Becoming John Connor
by Dekardkain
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.
1. Chapter 1

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 1/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 01/09/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

AN: I decided to do the intro to this chapter (at least) in the monologue style the series used. If people like it, I may continue doing so, just let me know what you think. Unlike the series though, most of the voiceovers will likely come from John as frankly, this is his story.

Chapter 1 - "Under Seige"

_**I've always liked chess. **_

_**My mother wanted me to learn the game because of the lessons it teaches. Lessons she believed would help me in the coming war. Strategy. Patience. Deception. Sacrifice.**_

_**But I liked chess because at it's heart, it's the very antithesis of war. Chess is literally black and white. The lines are always clear. The pieces always move the same way and always with the same mission in mind.**_

_**Kill the king. **_

_**It always boils down to the king. Without the king, all of the other pieces, so valuable in their own right, become useless. Without the king... the war is over.**_

_**War, unlike chess, is messy. It's smoke and death. It's chaos.**_

_**Soldiers, unlike chess pieces, don't always follow orders. Their judgment can be compromised. They can fail to see the bigger picture. They can make mistakes.**_

_**But a chess piece has never won a match through an act of bravery. It's instincts can't tip the tide of battle. It can't inspire others with it's sacrifice.**_

_**When Skynet looks at the battlefield, it sees a game board. It sees pieces with set values and known quantities. It sees rules, and forms, and functions. **_

_**That is why it will lose.**_

* * *

Pueblo Colorado

February 15th, 2011

0850 hrs

"I didn't cook those so you could admire their beauty John." Sarah frowned from the doorway separating the small kitchen/dining room from the living room as she hastily snatched her apron from the top of the fridge and fastened it around her waist.

John simply groaned in response, motioning idly to his plate for a reason even he couldn't come up with at the moment. He wondered if she was trying to punish him, as there was little doubt she'd figured out what he and his still passed-out-on-the-couch uncle had been up to the night before. Empty beer bottles littered nearly every flat surface in sight, the ravaged remains of the pizza they'd ordered around midnight had been shoved to one corner most likely to give Sarah room to prepare his pancakes. Hell, she'd had to step over three of her son's 'lieutenants' just to make it through to the kitchen.

Finally deciding that now was probably not the time to push his luck, John ignored his headache long enough to nod toward his mother, "Sorry mom."

"No you're not." She eyed him for a long moment before deciding to take mercy on him... just this once. Snapping her name tag into place over her left breast, Sarah found she couldn't entirely suppress an eye-roll, "I'm not stupid John. _Your _men look like they had a very good time last night."

"Ugh," She couldn't tell if her son was about to be sick or to attempt a rapid tactical retreat of the room, probably serpentining the entire way if his balance managed to hold out. "I can explain..."

"Don't bother." Sarah silenced him with a raised hand, still shaking her head slowly. "We're lucky enough to have some down time, but I don't want you getting used to it. We have work to do John and I won't jeopardize it so you can get drunk with Derek!"

"Mom..."

"_But_," The older Conner sighed as she leaned back against the fridge and rubbed her temples, "You're eighteen years old and I understand that you need to be allowed to unwind while... well, while you still can. I guess I'd rather have you doing that at home with Derek than sneaking out with that fake I.D. you keep taped to the underside of your dresser."

John visibly blanched and Sarah couldn't help but lean forward to ruffle his hair, "Like I said John, I'm a mom. You only _think_ you have secrets."

Shrugging off the the effects of the previous night long enough to get up from his chair John tossed his arms around his mother. Clearly not expecting it, Sarah stuttered awkwardly for a second before returning the gesture with a reassuring squeeze. The moment itself was a perfectly condensed example of their interactions over the last few months. Ever since her brush with cancer and their decision to bunker down and prepare for the inevitable battle now looming so closely on the murky horizon their relationship had taken on a new dynamic.

It had shocked all of them that in the end it was John himself who had decided to end their long-running guerrilla war against Skynet so they could focus on establishing the groundwork of a resistance network even before the bombs dropped. Sarah had actually smacked him when he'd uttered the words she'd only heard come from a terminator's mouth in the past: 'Judgment Day is inevitable.'

She had ranted and raved for hours, more than once bringing random objects lying loose around the house into play to punctuate the points she really wanted to make sure she got across.

Later that night, she and Derek had lounged together on the porch and shared a bottle of Jack Daniels he'd been saving for a 'special occasion', which for Derek could mean anything from a wedding to a Tuesday. About two thirds of the way through the bottle she'd looked up at him from under her hair, obviously fighting tears as she whispered, "I never imagined John would be the one to quit. To let all those people die, knowing there might still be something we can do to..."

"Sarah," Derek had cut her off, shaking his head with a mirthless smile, "You need to understand... that wasn't... that wasn't _John_ in there."

She'd looked at him like he'd sprouted another head, "Then just who the hell do you think it was?"

"That," Reese pointed over his shoulder and back towards the house where the future leader of the human race was sprawled out on the couch with Cameron, watching Monday Night Football while field stripping his M4, "Was the _General_."

No longer blinded by her anger, Sarah had been forced to admit that Derek had seen something in her son she'd managed to miss entirely. He had stood toe to toe with her in all her fury, never once raising his voice nor backing down a step as he calmly explained that there were simply too many concurrent AI programs for them to take out by themselves. The fact that most were being sponsored or conducted directly by the United States military made the locations of the research nearly unassailable and both John and Sarah would never have agreed to an operation that would have brought about the kind of loss of life those assaults would have entailed.

He'd gone on to say that the 'first time around' he hadn't had the benefit of forewarning in regards to Judgment Day, and that was a tool he wasn't going overlook just so he could be dragged kicking and screaming into the inevitable battle unprepared. He wanted to give humanity every edge he could, to prevent the extermination camps, to make sure the horrible fires his father had described to Sarah were never lit in the first place.

She should have seen it in the living room, the way his eyes never deviated from hers as he told her exactly how they were going to prepare for the nuclear firestorm and the coming war with Skynet. Sarah had never imagined she would live long enough to see for herself why millions of human beings would charge to their certain deaths for her son, but she knew she'd caught a glimpse of it that night.

John had made a decision and in his mind there was simply no going back. He would make it happen. He would stay the course.

Over the next few months they had assembled a small arsenal as well as quite the eclectic little team. Sarah and Derek had made tracking down Resistance operatives and safe houses in their time line a priority, as it would be easier to recruit soldiers who already knew the score than it would be to convince fresh meat that Judgment Day wasn't just a bad cult pitch. Counting Derek, twelve of their nineteen soldiers had survived it once already and were now preparing to weather the storm again. John had insisted Charley be brought on board, arguing that a trained field medic would prove invaluable in the coming fight. Sarah couldn't dispute his logic, but also realized there was far more to his decision than simple practicality.

She had pretended to fight him on it long enough to work Ellison, who John and Derek still didn't entirely trust, into the fold in exchange for Dixon's addition. Sarah was convinced the man would provide a much-needed voice of humanity and morality post J-Day, traits that the rest of John's soldiers didn't exactly possess in abundance.

Sarah still wasn't entirely sure how to feel about their new additions. They were undoubtedly capable combat soldiers, all of whom had more experience fighting the machines than anyone else they could hope to scrounge up before the bombs dropped. They just... unsettled her. No matter how many times she herself had told John of his importance to the future, it was still a shock to her system to see the way his soldiers acted in their commander's presence.

With Derek being her primary source of intel on future Resistance fighters, Sarah wasn't in the least surprised when most of them turned out to be just as vulgar, surly, and slightly unhinged as her son's uncle. That part didn't bother her. Years of running with Central American rebels had rendered her all but immune to their macho bullshit and despite keeping the last name Baum to preserve the time line, her known status as John's mother bought her a wide berth to begin with. It was how they responded to John.

Her son's slightest wish was carried out with a fanatical devotion that scared the living shit out of her. They refused him nothing. Hell, they never even hesitated. When John entered a room, even stumbling into the kitchen in his boxers for a bowl of cereal, every one of them was on their feet and immediately silent in preparation simply because there was the smallest possibility Connor was about to issue an order. They'd remain as motionless as deactivated machines until he either left the room or noticed and actually _ordered_ them to relax.

When John spoke, their entire universe began and ended with the words coming out of his mouth. They remembered every order, every suggestion, every corny joke, to the point they often tried to quote her son's own words back to her to prove points. It was maddening.

The only consolation, albeit a small one, was that it seemed to irritate John almost as much as it irritated her. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that last night's party had as much to do with John's desire to be treated as 'one of the guys' as it did with Charley's arrival. She couldn't suppress the momentary pang of sympathy that thought caused, the idea that her son had to work so hard for genuine social interaction pained her. She had tried to give him every tool he would need to survive and eventually win the coming war, but that simple gift most parents took for granted she could never provide. She could never give him _normal_.

_In the future, John Connor has many friends._

Sarah could only shake her head at that, wondering if Cameron could really tell the difference between friends and followers.

The object of her musings seemed equally lost in thought at the moment as he shoved the remains of his breakfast around his plate in an apparent effort to gather up every drop of syrup that remained, so she settled for ruffling his short-cropped hair one more time before departing for work. It never once occurring to her that her completely unnecessary job at the local diner was nothing more than her own desperate bid for a normal life before it all came crashing down. In her own mind, she simply needed 'something to do'. A menial task to keep her from losing her mind as the clock ticked down.

Sarah Conner was a lot of things, but few would accuse her of being overly introspective.

* * *

John Connor on the other hand was a man who lived primarily within his own thoughts. Sometimes to the point of feeling trapped, boxed in by a mind that never seemed to give him a moment of peace.

The future was a tangible and frightening thing, always bearing down on him, forever haunting his every step. Being John Connor meant there was no escape. He ate the future for breakfast, fate for lunch, and destiny for dinner.

_No fate but what you make_... bullshit.

A lie meant to soothe the frightened and impotent. Sure, you could change the future. You could twist and mold it to your heart's content, but you could never escape it. It was a storm gathering on the horizon, and it was always coming.

"You're brooding again."

John could have sworn he caught Cameron smirking as he nearly upended his stool at her words, his heart hammering in his throat. Before he had a chance to compose himself she closed the distance between them, running a finger along the back of his neck and sending another jolt careening along a much different course. Did she have any freaking idea how much that bothered him? Again she was gone before he had a chance to adjust, snatching a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the sink.

"You're also dehydrated," Cameron frowned, taking a seat across from him and setting the glass next to his plate. She looked as immaculate and unruffled as she always did, only serving to highlight John's own unkempt appearance. Her black tank-top hugged her form perfectly without a single wrinkle or loose thread. Her jeans were freshly ironed, as she constantly reminded the future leader of humanity, she never slept.

"John, if you insist on consuming such copious amounts of alcohol then I must insist you alter your diet to compensate. Water is the most efficient means of flushing your system of the toxins and..."

"I hate it when you do that," John returned her frown but drained the glass anyways. The satisfied smile he received from the cyborg across the table earned an eye-roll that Cameron found oddly reminiscent of his mother. She deemed his attitude irrelevant as long as he complied with her wishes. It was, after all, for his own good.

A few months ago he might have argued in what she would have deemed a useless and utterly self-defeating episode of adolescent rebellion, but now he simply chuckled as she returned with his now refilled water glass. This development was heartening for the cyborg, as such pragmatism would serve him well as the leader of the Resistance.

However, said leader was in less than inspection-ready shape at the moment. An OD green t-shirt he'd worn the day before was stained across the shoulder with what she could only assume was motor oil, the wrinkles down the left side indicated he had in fact slept in the garment. Cameron noticed he had also recently developed his uncle's apparent aversion to shaving, though his hair was shorter than she remembered seeing it in a long time. That insight caused her to tilt her head to one side, "You cut your hair."

John squinted at her comment for a long moment before running a hand through his recently-shorn locks thoughtfully, as if he'd forgotten about it entirely, "Oh yeah... Darla cut it yesterday while you and mom were setting up the weapons drop with Manny."

"I didn't realize Corporal Cole was proficient in cutting hair." If John didn't know better he would have sworn he detected a distinct dislike for the young woman in his protector's voice.

"Yeah," His hand running down from his hair to scratch idly at the base of his neck indicated to Cameron he had grown uncomfortable, "She's something huh?"

Cameron's head tilted to one side as she attempted to understand his reluctance. It was moments like this that she most recognized the differences between this John and _her_ John, "Does she not wish to copulate with you?"

Halfway through his second glass of water, John suddenly found a good portion of it soaking the front of his shirt as he sputtered for some much-needed air, "What?!"

"I am aware that Corporal Cole has expressed interest in perusing a sexual relationship with you John." The lack of inflection in her voice only seemed to make her charge more uncomfortable, so she attempted to adapt by employing a more 'friendly' approach, "As I said, I do not understand your reluctance. She is a healthy female of breeding age, many of the other soldiers have commented on her physical attributes, she appears willing to..."

John cut her off before the blood rushing to his face could physically overwhelm him, "That's not the point Cam."

"You have decided to embrace your destiny." Cameron stated matter-of-factly, "This is part of that."

The future leader of humanity looked like she'd just told him his father had actually been a T-800, "Ummm... having sex with Corporal Cole is part of my role in the future?"

"Not her specifically." Cameron couldn't help but smirk slightly at John's relieved exhalation, "However, you are a highly sought after breeding partner post Judgment Day."

John paled at her rather frank assessment of what amounted to sending him out to stud. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Obviously either failing to detect the tone in his voice or, more likely, choosing to ignore it, Cameron continued. "Your genetic traits, personal charisma, relatively limited exposure to radiation, and physical appearance all make you a prime candidate for Command's re-population program. At last count you had fathered eight children by four different..."

Slamming his empty glass down onto the table with enough force to rattle the light fixtures John growled, "And I'm okay with this?!"

"You are John Connor," Cameron frowned at his incredulous expression, as if her comment should have explained everything to the dense human. "Who among the Resistance is better suited to aid in establishing a diverse genetic base in order for the survivors of the war to flourish afterwards? Even your wife agreed that it was a necessary step towards..."

"My _**wife**_?!" That was the last straw for John, who was now on his feet literally shaking in defiance. Over the past few years Cameron had grown to understand and anticipate her charge's emotional responses better than she had even those of his future self, but sometimes he still managed to baffle her. Most eighteen year old males would not respond this way to the news they were to procreate with a wide variety of females in the future. It occurred to Cameron, perhaps belatedly, that John Connor was not a typical eighteen year old male.

"Yes. Katherine Connor was one of the primary architects of the program, in addition to being your wife and the mother of three of your children."

John was running his hands over his face feverishly as if hoping he'd wake up somewhere else, "Jesus... I thought she was making it up! She couldn't understand why I wasn't interested."

Cameron's frown returned as she tilted her head in confusion. Of all the things about his future that might upset him, she didn't understand why John was fixating on this one insignificant detail. "In the future, it is not abnormal for fertile males to have multiple reproductive partners."

"Still!" John was practically growling. "Aren't I a big enough asshole in the future already? Do I really need to add infidelity to my list of war crimes? Darla told me a joke - how does John Connor plan to repopulate the human race? One woman at a time! Isn't that hilarious?! Is there anyone in the Resistance I'm _not_ fucking?!"

Assuming his question was anything but rhetorical, Cameron's eyes flashed blue as she pulled up the required information. "One moment please."

**Subject: Connor, John**

**DOB: 02/28/85**

**Subject Sexual History**

**Orientation: Heterosexual**

**Marital Status: Married (Non-monogamous)**

**Sexual Partners: Katherine Connor (3 offspring)**

** Lt. Sarah Fernandez (1 offspring) **

** Lt. Taryn Sallis (2 offspring)**

** Cpt. Blair Williams (2 offspring)**

** Cpl. Allison Young **

The light leaving her eyes as quickly as it had arrived, Cameron smiled as she anticipated finally being able to provide an answer that might lift the young man's spirits, "In actuality, you have had sexual relations with less than one percent of the known members of the Resistance."

"Fantastic." John's tone indicated he did not in fact find this information to be 'fantastic'. Humans rarely said what they were thinking. It was a distressing habit with no perceivable advantage.

"There is no fate John." At his frustrated scoff she continued, "We have already changed the future. Judgment Day has been delayed, the odds of a quicker, more decisive Resistance victory have been significantly improved."

_There is no reason you have to become that man._

John considered that for a long moment, every dream of a normal life he'd ever entertained running past his mind's eye before disappearing off into the ether, most likely to never be seen again.

Deep down, he was aware of the reason this bothered him. It was simply one last reminder of the cold, calculating, flat out heartless son of a bitch he was supposed to become. The kind of man who could send his own father to his certain death. The kind of man who stepped out on his wife to 'repopulate the species'. John had always held out the slim hope that at least he might find someone to share the burden with. Someone who could love him for the man he was, not just because he was John Connor.

The term 'soul mate' was just new-agey enough to make John's eyes roll back into his head, but he thought he could live with 'companion'. "Sorry Cam, It's not your fault. I guess I always held out the hope that I'd find someone special."

"Special?" Cameron asked, apparently requiring further clarification.

Little did he know that the cyborg often pretended to misunderstand him while knowing full well what he was getting at. As Cameron's emotions had developed over the past few years, she had managed to identify three-hundred and eighty-five things that could be filed under the heading 'enjoyment'. Of those, three-hundred and twenty-one directly involved John Connor. Currently, his explanations of human behavior ranked fifth, and it had been a while since she'd indulged herself.

"Yeah... special." Cameron felt as if the sun had suddenly arrived with the small smile John always wore when launching into another edition of Humanity 101. "Someone I could _really_ talk to. Someone who I could actually be myself around instead of always being the General. I may have had sex with those women, even had children with them, but I get the feeling that not one of them actually knew me."

John, _her_ John, had always told her he valued honesty above all else. Precisely because was forced to lie so often throughout his life. It was a dichotomy he'd had to explain to her - that the more scarce a thing is, the more inherently precious it becomes. With that in mind, she pressed on, despite the fact she detected a high probability her words would wipe the smile she so enjoyed from his face. "In the future, you find it difficult to foster interpersonal relationships with your peers. With the notable exception of Kyle Reese you are considered by most to be an intimidating, nearly unapproachable figure."

Cameron's voice took on a lighter, almost hesitant quality, "You often point out it's something we have in common."

"We talk a lot," John leaned back against the counter, drumming his fingers on the cool plastic of the counter tops, "In the future, I mean."

"Of course." She didn't feel the need to add that his choice to confide in her alone would cause a great deal of strain among the ranks, or detail the rumors that circulated about 'Connor's Love-bot'. This information would only serve to further upset him.

"So I have Kyle," John could only shake his head while considering the six shades of screwed up that relationship was. "Wait. You said in the future I had friends. _Friends_. That's plural."

Her 'are you dense?' look had returned full force, "Me John. I am your friend."

"Oh." He couldn't help but smirk as he tilted his head to one side, "Thank you for explaining."

* * *

Previous Night

Pueblo Colorado

February 14th, 2011

2230 hrs

"Enjoying yourself?" Derek had been standing next to John for more than ten minutes, only breaking the silence when he realized the younger man wasn't going to do it himself.

For his part, John just grunted slightly as he repositioned his shoulders against the wall in the pose Derek had dubbed 'Connor Broods 2.0', "Oh yeah. I mean, why wouldn't I be? Last Valentines Day before the apocalypse and I'm getting drunk with my uncle."

Derek smirked, tilting his beer at him, "That's the spirit."

Deciding that bemoaning his serious lack of a sex life wasn't going to improve his disposition, John snagged one of the pre-prepared tequilla shots from the table beside them and knocked it back with a quick exhale. Laughter from across the room caught his attention, a wry smile tugging the corners of John's mouth, "Charley's fitting in nicely."

Nodding from side to side, Derek frowned as he noticed a solitary figure at the kitchen table trying to read the paper as if in defiance of the party swirling around him, "FBI guy... not so much."

"Give him time Derek," John shrugged, "At least he showed up."

His uncle's reply was cut short when the distance between them was halved in a second by the sheer force of the massive hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, "Connor!"

Mike 'Huey' Hendrix was the kind of guy that would follow you into hell just because it sounded like a 'kick-ass time'. The war had fostered more than a few adrenaline junkies, but if Derek was forced to choose their poster boy, it would be Lieutenant Hendrix. Tossing his empty into the trashcan and snatching a fresh one from the cooler in the same motion, Reese frowned at the man pointedly, "You're lucky John's metal isn't around Mikey, or your arm would be in too many pieces to count."

"Aw, come on Reese!" Hendrix's smile stretched from ear to ear, "Everybody knows I like my fightin' at altitude."

Derek had noticed almost immediately after the man's arrival that he tended to make his nephew uncomfortable. It's not that he wasn't a friendly guy, quite the contrary, it was that he'd known _him_. The General.

'Huey' had earned his nickname, and his current assignment in the past, through a decade of service as Connor's personal pilot. He'd told the story of their meeting too many times to count to anyone who would listen, and more than a few who swore they'd gnaw their own arms of if forced to sit through it one more time.

"Sorry," Mike shrugged, not the least bit sorry. "I gotta steal Connor. It's _time_."

Derek made sure to look as serious as possible while glancing at his nephew from the corner of his eye, "Are you sure L.T.? He's just a kid after all."

"Um... what?" John suddenly looked very interested in their conversation. _Where is Cameron? She should definitely be present for any potential hazing rituals._

Slapping a hand on each of the young man's shoulders, Huey ushered him unceremoniously to the center of the living room.

Knowing his own roll in the little ceremony, Derek cranked down the stereo and got everyone's attention with a whistle loud enough to reach even the drunkest of their party guests.

The conversation in the room dropped to a persistent buzz as everyone all redirected their attention to the massive soldier with a hand on John's shoulder. "Now, most of you know the story of the first time I met John Connor..."

His introduction was met with a chorus of groans, two couch pillows and a plastic cup bouncing off his bulky frame in protest. At least the cup had been empty. "Anyways, like I was saying."

"Jenkins and I had just finished a supply run to one of our forward bases outside Bakersfield when we start gettin' the most interesting chatter coming over the party line." Mike's retelling was only spurred on by the rapt attention of the 'new meat'. Charley, who'd had more than a few beers himself, plopped down onto the couch in front of his former girlfriend's son, eager to get any insight into the man he was supposed to become. Even Ellison had set his paper aside and was looking on patiently as John blushed furiously at being once again the center of attention.

"Nothin' too special mind you - just some random assault on a Skynet research facility. I had a hell of a headache that day, and was just about to tune out the battle when the words every Resistance fighter lived to hear cut across clear as day," There was a reverence in the man's voice that always left John decidedly uncomfortable, "_Connor is on the ground_."

"Well it don't take a genius to know shit was gonna get interesting, we were at least an hour and a half from bingo fuel so I say to Jenkins, 'why don't we see how this plays out'?" Hendrix shrugged jovially, glancing to Charley for a little aside, "I wasn't as smart in those days brother."

"You ain't exactly Einstein now Huey!" Corporal Cole sidled up to John's right, a large rectangular box cradled in both hands and a slightly predatory look peeking out from under her raven locks, "Finish your story so we can get back to the debauchery."

"Alright. Alright! So we're skirtin' the perimeter all sneaky-like, A-10's rolling in and out of the area blasting every damn thing in sight when we hear this voice on the radio." Mike tossed one massive arm around his Commander's shoulders and gave him a shake that rattled his molars, "No one needed tellin' just who's voice that was. I'd been listening to Connor's Resistance broadcasts since a few months after J-Day, and that intense, raspy voice still managed to shake me to the core every time I heard it."

"Seems this cocky bastard had decided he was gonna tear ass after a Skynet prisoner trasport all by his lonesome," That elicted more than a few knowing chuckles from the crowd. Connor may have been known for his leadership in the future, but it was his almost reckless abandon when human lives were hanging in the balance that made him a legend. John Connor did not leave people behind. "We were just changing course to get in on the chase when all hell broke loose. Ground ripped open and seemed to spew out pure fire, blinding us both just before the shock waves knocked the chopper all over the damn place. I still don't know how the hell we stayed airborne, but thank God we did... cause Connor sure as hell didn't."

"We lost our shit." Mike was shaking his head at the memory, "Hadn't seen a mushroom cloud since J-Day. We figured, 'no way is anything walking away from that'."

His grin nearly split his face, "Shoulda known better. This was _Connor_ we're talkin about."

Ellison quirked a brow as the room burst into cheers and whistles, even Derek was nodding along with the story now. It was all part of the myth - the legend that was his nephew.

"Son of a bitch barely had a scratch on him! Walkin' his happy ass away from a nuclear blast with slagged machines littering every inch of ground you could see." After a final hard shake, Hendrix released the obviously embarrassed teen, and not being quite as oblivious as most people believed, decided to cut through to the end for the kid's benefit. "Tough as nuclear nails. Ordered me - flat out overriding Command - to drop his ass into fifty-foot swells with no diving equipment! I knew then... _this_ was the guy I wanted to work for. Have been ever since, sir."

John could only shrug slightly in thanks, deciding good humor was his best shield at this point. The liquor coursing through his veins the only reason he hadn't bolted from the room yet, "This has to do with my present how?"

"I was gettin' to that." Huey actually managed to look offended at being 'rushed', but it reverted into his trademark grin as he motioned to Corporal Cole and the box in her hands. "That was the day I met John Connor. Every time I look into your face, I see that man, but we all agreed that something... something was off."

For his part, John cast a questioning look to his uncle, whose grin took on that devious quality that frustrated him to the core. Before he had time to get too worked up though, Darla had removed the lid from the box, brushing aside the tissue paper covering the garment she pulled it from the box and shook it out from the shoulders with a flourish. "What Mikey is _trying_ to say is that you look the part - but you can't be _Connor_, until you have this."

Now standing in front of him, Darla helped him slide into the forgiving warmth of the leather jacket, her fingers dancing deftly over the buckles and holsters, making adjustments as if it was something she'd done for him a million times before. "We weren't exactly sure how you got it the first time around, but if you stumble across one in the future at least now you'll have a backup."

A rare and completely genuine smile graced John's face as he ran an eye over the dark brown leather, musing out loud, "Future me has good taste."

"Very good taste." Corporal Cole agreed, unzipping the coat now that she'd adjusted it to his frame. "We just wanted to do something for you sir. After everything you've done... everything you're going to do," She sucked in an awkward breath, "Well, it's just not very often we get to return the favor."

Derek felt himself nodding along with the group unconsciously, mentally noting that Cole should probably be elected group spokesperson the next time they needed to deal with John. Mike was a great guy, in Derek's opinion he just needed a regular injection of 'get to the fucking point already'.

Reese also couldn't help but like Darla Cole. She was pushy, willful, and more than a little aware of the effect she had on men. That, coupled with her thick raven hair and smooth almond skin was enough to remind him almost painfully of Jesse.

But most of all, he liked Darla because she wasn't _her_. The walking, talking, pain-in-his-ass known as Cameron Phillips.

Since being recruited into their little strike team, Darla had let anyone dense enough to go sniffing in her direction know in no uncertain terms she was only interested in bunking with one man. Derek couldn't help but sigh. He loved his nephew, he really did. Hell, he'd given up the only dream he'd ever allowed himself to have - stopping Judgment Day - for him. He was preparing to live through that devastation all over again, this time as John's trusted lieutenant, Derek Baum.

Yes, he loved his nephew. That didn't change the fact the kid was nearly as socially deficient as Cameron.

It wasn't his fault, Derek recognized that. Being John Connor was a pretty lonely existence and he'd simply never lived a 'normal' life long enough to develop abilities the older man took for granted. Even though the world had ended when he was in high school, Derek had at least had a normal childhood. He'd played sports with his brother, he'd had friends and taken dates to school dances. John had missed out on all of that.

In a lot of ways the soldier had been hoping their new friends would help John in that regard. A group of people, all of whom knew his secret, who he could be himself around, should have done him a world of good. Unfortunately, as with everything else involving John, nothing was ever that simple.

How was someone supposed to connect with people who viewed him as the second coming of Christ? Derek supposed he had never taken that into account. His time in the past had almost made him forget the simple fact he was one of the few people who didn't consider John's every utterance gospel.

John seemed to mistakenly assume the woman's attentions were those of any devoted soldier, missing the forest for the trees as it were. Unfortunarely for his nephew, Derek was just drunk enough to feel like 'helping' the wayward young pup. After all, it was Valentines Day, and if Kyle couldn't be here to do it, it was Derek's responsibility to step up, right? _Right. _He nodded to himself before walking resolutely over to his new charge, now standing alone at the table pouring himself another drink - a pretty stiff one too - Derek noted with a smirk.

"Ask her to dance kid."

John's brow hitched three inches as he turned to face his uncle, "Excuse me?"

"Wow," Derek smirked, "Deaf _and_ stupid. I said - Ask. Her. To. Dance."

"Ummm...," John frowned, "No one else is dancing Derek. In fact, no one has danced all night."

Reese's eyeroll could have been picked up from space, "For once in your life John, just shut the hell up and do what you're told."

Giving the young man a last shove in the right direction with an expectant look on his face, Derek just sat back to watch the fireworks.

There was only one reason you asked a Resistance fighter to dance. But that was a lesson John would just have to learn for himself.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note - I generally do more action oriented fiction, which this will become as the story develops (particularly post J-Day). However, the psyche of someone like John Connor is just too fertile a playground to ignore.

One reason I hadn't written this before is because I was very weary of trying a John/Cameron pairing, as it's difficult to do well and is often very... cheesy. I can only hope to avoid those pitfalls as we progress and hope you as the reader will be kind enough to point it out if I drift into dangerous waters.

Let me know what you think. Who knows, a few reviews might actually spur me to update more quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 2/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 01/20/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 2 - "Fun House"

Pueblo Colorado  
February 17th, 2011  
0545 hrs

The sun wouldn't be up for another hour at least, but John was much too restless to sleep. Dreams, or rather nightmares, were nothing new to the young man, but they had only gotten worse as the reality of what they were about to undertake set in.

Sitting on the edge of his still unmade bed, elbows resting on his knees as he replayed the vivid image of a young Derek Reese trying in vain to shield his brother Kyle from the incinerating fire of a nuclear blast over and over. He could see them both so clearly, playing catch in the park his uncle had taken him to on his birthday, then the flash... then, nothing but ash.

"Fuck this," He was done thinking.

Figuring the cargo pants he'd worn the day before were just as acceptable today, John yanked them on along with a pair of rather well-traveled combat boots.

Pulling on the coat his men had given him a few days before, John was out the door and trotting down the porch steps before Cameron could get a word out from her position on the couch. By the time he'd hit the gravel path, John already regretted blowing her off, but he just didn't trust himself to deal with her until he'd had a chance to vent. If he talked to her now she would just look at him with those wide, impossibly expressive eyes until he felt about three inches tall for taking his anger out on her.

No.

He wanted to feel righteous in his anger, dishing it out to someone who could take it, someone who could understand it.

Connor found the guard exactly where he should have been. He _always_ found the guards where they were supposed to be. Since establishing their little compound, they kept two soldiers patrolling the grounds at all times in rotating shifts, which even John wasn't immune from having to take an equal part in. Cameron had at first forbid it, then insisted on accompanying him at all times, finally relenting only after he threatened to make it an order. He hated having to issue her 'directives' and had managed to refrain from doing it for over two years, a streak he hoped to keep running far into the future.

It's not like he wasn't intelligent enough to understand her concern, she simply couldn't seem to grasp the principle that a leader had to expose himself to the same dangers as the men who followed him, otherwise they would grow to resent him.

_Brave the bullets and the bombs, then you can hand them death on a bloody platter and they'll love you for it. _

They did their best to look inconspicuous during the daylight hours, thus the guard outside the renovated barn/barracks was keeping himself busy by chopping firewood. A casual observer would likely have missed the modified M-14 propped up against the barn behind a few miscellaneous tools, but John's practiced eye picked it up as he nodded curtly by way of greeting before stepping past and into the large outbuilding.

While not exactly the most comfortable accommodations for fourteen people, John was pretty sure most of them had lived in far worse during the war and if they survived long enough, they would live in worse again. The bottom floor had been converted into a large rec-room/gym, the stairs on the far wall leading up to the barracks, which unfortunately was little more than two rows of cots and battered footlockers with a couple of card tables scattered around randomly. It offered little in the way of privacy, but it was warm, dry, and contained what Derek kept insisting were the three key ingredients to a successful Resistance safe house: toilet, shower, and the Game Show Network.

Corporal Cole was sprawled out one of their two threadbare couches next to the resident slicer/field engineer/jack-of-all-trades, Specialist Lucas Austin, both soldiers apparently too busy arguing with a ten year old episode of the Price is Right to notice their commander's entrance. A telltale shock of bright red hair told him that it was Amanda O'Brien sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them doing her best to ignore their increasingly vocal disagreement over the cost of a washer/dryer set while stoically cleaning her Barret .50 cal. Even disassembled the rifle was nearly as tall as she was, but having seen her fire it on more than one occasion, John knew that underestimating the former Resistance Scout Sniper would be a mistake you only made once.

Rolling his eyes at the scene, John shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair near the door. Despite the early hour, he wasn't surprised to find Privates Carmack and Coons already well into their workout. Dooley Carmack, like most demolitions experts, was a little... intense. A stark contrast to his best friend and ever-present shadow Claudia Coons, often referred to (mostly by herself) as 'The Mouth'. Blessed with a thick Brooklyn accent and a vocabulary that would make a summit meeting of Teamsters and Marines decidedly uncomfortable, people quickly realized it wasn't one of those ironic nicknames.

"Connor! What in the fuckin' seven levels of hell you doin' up at this hour," John sighed, _speak of the devil_. "I thought brass was supposed to sleep in?"

"No," John allowed himself a hint of a smile, "But I do get to tell you to mind your own fucking business."

Coons winked at him before returning to her place on the bench, "Ya got it boss."

Dooley's eyes passed between the pair a few times before he turned to John incredulously, startling Coons who had just lost her spotter mid-extension. "Now just how in the hell do you always manage to shut her up?"

"Because..." Both men found their attention called back to the straining, red-faced woman on the bench, "He's.... Connor!"

"And that, I'm afraid," John chuckled softly as he helped the woman replace the bar, "Is something you can't teach."

Nodding in thanks, Claudia didn't bother to catch the towel her commander tossed onto her stomach. "You wanna get a few reps in sir?"

"Actually," The mischievous grin that greeted her was eerily unsettling, "I was thinking we might squeeze in some close quarters training."

Suddenly, every eye in the place was centered directly on John Connor. Since the first of them had arrived at the compound, John had _never _run them through hand-to-hand drills.

It wasn't all that surprising when you considered the fact that you didn't get a lot of opportunities to use those kind of skills when dealing with terminators. Put simply, if they got that close, you ran or you died. Knowing that encounters with human hostiles were inevitable, especially before Judgment Day, they occasionally touched on it, but the few times they had covered it Sarah had led the exercises. It was after watching the 'Mother of the Resistance' wipe the floor with the best they had to offer that they started to wonder what the younger Connor could do if properly motivated.

"So," John's lopsided grin was downright frightening, "Who wants a shot at the boss?"

* * *

Pueblo Colorado  
February 17th, 2011  
0745 hrs

"Where's John?" Sarah dropped into her chair a little more heavily than she'd intended, sloshing a few drops of scalding coffee over the rim of her cup and directly onto her knuckles. Hissing between clenched teeth and eying the cup with a look known ten years in the future as 'The Connor Eye-fuck', she nearly missed the cyborg's reply.

"He is in the barn fraternizing with his men," Cameron informed her without turning from her place at the window. She was staring so intently that is seemed to Sarah as if she could see him through the walls of said structure. If she was using thermal imagining, she probably could.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Sarah snorted slightly, "Wouldn't it be easier to bring her back here? I will never understand how that boy's mind works."

Finally turning to face the elder Connor, the tilt of Cameron's head was yet another ill omen about where this morning was headed, "I don't understand."

"I mean...," Sarah started and stopped a few more times, obviously irritated at having to fill in for her son in the 'teach Cameron about humanity' department, "I know I'm his mother. I know it would make him uncomfortable to bring her around."

Pausing only to take a long swig from her much-needed coffee, she continued, "But still. She might be used to... _fraternizing_ in a bunk room full of soldiers, but John has a private bedroom here. I just don't like to think of my son doing something like that."

"Then you will be happy to know," Cameron's smile could only be described as smug, "That he is not copulating with Corporal Cole."

Before Sarah's sleep deprived mind could decide what she should make of the cyborg's attitude, a commotion from the barn outside caused both women's attention to shoot back to the window.

"Maybe I should check on John." Cameron frowned pointedly. She hated it when she didn't know if her John was being harmed. It made her... anxious. Various, and generally morbid, scenarios flashed across her HUD detailing the myriad ways her fragile human could have been dispatched in the time since his departure.

No, she didn't like this feeling at all.

Not bothering to wait for an answer from Sarah she slipped her .45 USP into the waistband of her jeans and was out the door and on the path to the barn in seconds. The guard near the door regarded her coolly, his grip on the axe he was holding tightened noticeably but failed to phase Cameron in the least - she was accustomed to this type of reaction.

She knew none of these soldiers would act on their baser impulses. Though she was often suspicious of their motives, one thing this group all had in common was an unquestionable loyalty to John Connor. The future General's feelings on Cameron were quite clear, and no one but Derek or Sarah was truly willing to risk his wrath by insulting her.

Slipping through the door and stepping quickly over the long line of abandoned boots near the entrance, the cause of the disturbance became quite clear the further she moved across the open expanse of the room.

The shouting, along with the flurry of motion that greeted her as she cleared the entryway, sent her HUD into chaos. Not for the first time Cameron found herself cursing her short stature while trying in vain to catch sight of John over the backs of the soldiers surrounding the center of activity. Earlier in her 'life' Cameron would have simply shoved the others aside to gain an unobstructed vantage point, but she was aware of the soldier's distrust of her and did not wish to further antagonize them. _Don't poke the bear_, as John always reminded her, and though Cameron was convinced that a North American black bear would stand little chance against her in single combat, the advice was sound in principle.

Speaking of combat, the sounds her already stretched-to-the-max auditory sensors were picking up estimated an eighty-six percent probability that two or more humans were currently engaged in physical struggle inside the semi-circle of onlookers. Finally managing to wedge herself between Corporal Cole and Private Coons, Cameron's eyes widened in the machine equivalent of shock as her HUD broke down the scene before her.

**Warning: Threat to Primary Mission Directive (Protect John Connor)**

**Assess Level of Threat**

**Assessing.......**

**Target Acquired: Accessing Facial Recognition Software**

**Scanning....  
Scan Complete: Target Identified.**

**Sgt. Willis Reed (Threat lvl: Moderate)**

**Signs of extensive physical injury (Negative)**

**High probability targets are engaged in training exercise.**

**Primary Source Information: Physical exertion in necessary for humans to maintain combat effectiveness.**

**Secondary Source: Humans often engage in physical activity to alleviate stress. **

**Terminate? Y/N (N)**

Watching John deflect a series of blows before slipping away from the older man with a cocky smile, his behavior earlier that morning suddenly made sense to the cyborg. _John must have had another dream._

Like most terminators, Cameron had extensive files on human psychology, though she was forced to admit that they were of little help until she had learned the more basic concepts of human emotion for herself. She knew the young man's dreams often left him feeling vulnerable and only served to amplify the feeling of helplessness that John Connor would be forced to endure throughout his life. Despite his foreknowledge of events, his inability to affect meaningful change would repeatedly push him to the emotional breaking point. In the future, Cameron was often the only one capable of reeling him back in.

Other times, he would engage in behavior closely reminiscent to that which she was currently observing in order to vent his frustrations. Only her desire to aid John's emotional well-being allowed her to override her frighteningly genuine anxiety at seeing him in such a vulnerable position. It was odd, but when observing him in situations of physical danger, she often felt as though she herself had become infinitely more vulnerable. It was as if an attack on John was a bigger threat to herself than violence specifically directed at her.

Humans believe that when experiencing anxiety over something they have no control over, it is best to 'keep busy'. She had only seen John face physical attack on twelve occasions, then, primarily by terminators he could not engage in a contest of strength. Her fists clenching involuntarily at her sides, Cameron decided to use this as a learning opportunity. She would observe John's performance and provide him with tips on how to better protect himself in the future.

Satisfied she had found a productive reason for this exercise, she heightened her sensory inputs to maximum and initiated recording of the fight for later playback.

She immediately regretted her decision.

The first thing Cameron noticed was the smell. Not a bad smell, though with the amount of sweat both men were producing, she had been prepared for it. No, past her own mango body wash and the cloying perfume Corporal Cole insisted on wearing, she detected a scent she would have recognized anywhere:_ John_.

Almost too distracted by these new sensations to notice, Cameron's HUD informed her that the particles drifting through her nasal cavities were heavily laden with pheromones, though that didn't explain why she, _a machine_, could feel her ambient skin temperature rising steadily. She didn't fail to notice the heightened levels of pheromones drifting off the females to her sides either. Curiously, her fists tightened further at that realization, cracking one of her painstakingly manicured nails.

If she was looking for a temporary reprieve by switching the bulk of her processing power to her visual receptors, Cameron was sadly disappointed. Since her first meeting with the younger John years earlier, she had observed as he slowly began to take on the physical features of the man she'd known in the future. His jaw had hardened noticeably, his face adopting a more angular appearance as the planes flattened and expanded. The stubble that would become his ever-present companion had come next, along with the darkness in his eyes she had tried so hard to spare him from.

What she hadn't taken note of were the changes to his body. For some reason, John had become increasingly skiddish about her seeing him in a state of undress over the last year. She couldn't explain the behavior, but a quick search of her memory told her that it had been more than six months since she's seen him with his shirt off. Apparently, an adolescent male could change quite a bit over that period of time.

Though still smaller in stature than the majority of his soldiers, John's lanky form had begun filling out considerably. She detected twenty-seven percent more muscle mass than had been present the last time she'd scanned him. His shoulders, arms, and chest were far more defined than she remembered, the last of the 'baby fat' as Sarah called it, had disappeared from his flanks leaving curving muscle leading down to that distinctly male 'V' near his waistline framing what she'd heard girls at school refer to as 'washboard abs'.

Regardless of the time, she had always found John's physical appearance to be appealing. However, she was forced to concede that forty-year old John couldn't hold a candle to _her_ John. His movements carried a grace and barely restrained power that she found... intriguing. She could understand why so many women seemed intent on seeking out his companionship, though their insistence was oftentimes annoying.

Cameron was concerned about John's choice of competition, wondering idly if this was yet another example of his tendency to make rash decisions. Sergeant Reed was a seasoned combat veteran with more than ten years experience leading a squad of Connor's elite tech-com soldiers. The only other person in the compound who might have stood a better than average chance against the man was Derek Reese, and yet he showed injuries nearly as extensive as John. A quick scan indicated at least four bruised ribs, multiple contusions on the face and chest, and a cut across his left eyebrow that would require at least four stitches to close.

There was a high probability John's nose was broken, but Cameron couldn't be sure until she could examine him more closely. Bruising over his right eye and an obvious boot print along the exposed skin of his lower back seemed to be the extent of his injuries, at least what she could see. Her HUD flashed a directive indicating she would need to remove his pants and underwear in order to be completely sure of his structural integrity.

The corner of her lips quirked up involuntarily.

"You gettin' tired yet?" John chuckled slightly, sounding more than a little out of breath himself. Oddly enough, Cameron found that his heart rate was far lower than would be indicated by the rapidity of his breathing.

"No... sir!" Reed lunged at his commanding officer with a quick over-hand jab. He was nearly eight inches taller than the boy, his size also providing him a rather sizable reach advantage which he'd been using to devastating effect up until that point. This time however, John simply slipped in under it, driving a fist into his kidney before spinning away and out of reach again.

Cameron had to give John credit - his tactics appeared sound. Understanding he couldn't hope to win in a direct contest of strength or stamina, he was using his superior mobility to frustrate and harry his larger opponent. She felt an odd sense of pride as she watched her John easily evade another combination and retaliate with a hard right of his own.

"Hell yeah!" The cyborg's head immediately jerked to the side to regard the Corporal standing next to her, apparently oblivious to her presence. What vested interest did Corporal Cole have in the outcome of this training exercise? Why should she desire John's victory above that of a man she'd served with for more than a year? Squinting her eyes in what Charley continued to refer to as her 'scary freakin' robot' look, Cameron returned her attention to the action.

"Lucky shot kid." Sergeant Reed shook his head, rubbing along the now slightly inflamed side of his jaw. "But you can't run forever, you're gettin' tired."

"You're... forgetting the first... the first rule of warfare Sergeant." John's smile was a carbon copy of his mother's as the larger man moved in for the kill on the apparently spent teen catching his breath.

"Yeah, what's that?" Reed would have been wise to have noticed John's demeanor before he lunged. He did not.

Suddenly completely alert, John sidestepped the punch and grabbed the Sergeant's wrist in one hand. Using only the hand executing the wrist-lock he yanked Reed forward slightly to shift the man's center of gravity before slamming him back in the opposite direction. The motion appeared effortless but the effect was dramatic, two hundred and forty pounds of human being flipped over with the flick of a wrist, followed up nearly instantaneously by John's boot slamming down on his opponent's chest, pinning him to the floor.

Stepping off a second later, Connor broke the stunned silence as he extended his hand with an easy smile, "Nothing is _ever _as it seems Sergeant."

Cameron herself was more than a little impressed. She had calculated less than an eighteen percent probability that John would defeat the more experienced and physically superior soldier. Cameron couldn't help but smile, _this is what makes him John Connor. This is why he will defeat Skynet._

"Fuck Connor, it ain't cool pickin' on the elderly!" Coons laughed, tossing John a gym towel which he caught with his free hand.

Leveraging himself to his feet with commander's help, Sgt. Reed leveled a nearly Connor-like stare on the young woman. "You wanna go a few rounds next, _Private_?"

John rolled his eyes, effortlessly diffusing the situation while running the towel over his face. "I didn't beat him Private, I _tricked_ him. Beating him wasn't the object of the lesson."

"Don't kid yourself, there's no way in hell I could have taken Willis in a stand up fight." Cameron couldn't help but smile as John slipped into lecture mode, every eye and ear in the room firmly locked on him. "What I wanted you to see today is that deception can be just as valuable a tool as brute force. Skynet doesn't think very highly of humans, it constantly underestimates us and we can use that to our advantage by feeding into that misconception."

"Show it weakness, draw it in," John slammed his fist into an open palm with a resounding 'crack', "Crush it."

Corporal Cole frowned, "But John, Skynet is supposed to be a _learning_ computer. Shouldn't it be able to figure this out eventually?"

"The one thing Skynet has never managed to learn is a healthy respect for humanity," It irritated Cameron to an irrational extent that he didn't correct her for the use of his first name. "If it was capable of assimilating that, it probably wouldn't be trying to wipe us off the face of the Earth."

"On that happy note," John chuckled slightly while snagging his shirt from it's resting place on a nearby weight bench, "I think we'll call it a day. Briefing at 1430, but otherwise, enjoy your day guys."

As the crowd dispersed, Cameron approached him from behind. "That was an unnecessary risk John."

Though his back was turned to her as he pulled on his shirt, she could tell he was smiling as he replied, "That would be why I didn't tell you what I was planning."

"You performed...," Cameron frowned, it was rare for her to be at a loss for the appropriate word, "Beyond expectations."

Turning to face her only served to confirm her suspicions, the smile on his face causing the feelings she'd experienced earlier to return full force. "Well... thanks, Cam. I do try to impress."

Despite the fact she was supposed to be scolding him for his recklessness, Cameron couldn't help but return his smile. "You often succeed."

* * *

Pueblo Colorado  
February 17th, 2011  
1134 hrs

"Just scrap the damn thing already!" The back door hadn't even found it's way to the frame behind an extremely frazzled Derek Reese before it was flying open again, bouncing soundly off the wall and slamming shut behind a seething Sarah Connor. "Piece of shit!"

"Hey," The Resistance fighter looked personally affronted by her frank and uncharitable assessment, "I happen to love that truck!"

"Still a piece a shit Reese." Sarah ground out between her teeth as she stormed past him and into the kitchen.

"We'll see how good you look with two hundred thousand miles on your ass...," He grumbled under his breath. Staring at her retreating form for a long moment, Derek took a few breaths to wind himself back up before squaring his shoulders and stomping resolutely back into the fray, "Do I really need to remind you that the only reason you've been using my truck is because your Jeep is up on blocks for the third time in six months?"

"And who fucked up the suspension teaching my son to 'off-road'?!"

"Hey," Derek reiterated for the second time in two minutes, looking slightly sheepish, "That's a valuable skill! No roads in the future. Kyle could barely drive in a straight line most of the time!"

"Fine!" If the fridge door had been a conscious entity, it would have thanked it's creator for failing to endow it with the ability to process pain as Sarah pummeled it repeatedly with the steel toe of her boot, "Then next time teach him in _your_ truck!"

"The metal was using my truck to haul parts for it's science project," Crossing his arms over his chest, Derek positively oozed smugness, "Which _you_ gave it permission to do. This is your fault, you leave my truck out of it."

"Awww, it's like walking into a Norman Rockwell painting." John rolled his eyes as he made his way past his uncle and into the Kitchen, his cyborg protector following a few steps behind looking for all the world like a dutiful puppy. A puppy that could rip your arms off and beat you to death with them. "And Derek, we talked about the M-word."

Shifting his ire from one target to another with practiced efficiency, Reese snorted derisively, "John, she _is_ a fucking me..."

"So is your truck, and yet, you defend it." John replied almost as an afterthought as he thumbed through the fridge, though his tone told the older man his next words weren't a suggestion. "Her name is Cameron."

The subject of the conversation smiled softly while taking a seat at the table, "Thank you John."

Derek couldn't help but roll his eyes, mouthing 'thank you John' like a petulant six year old.

"John," Sarah frowned, "What the hell happened to your face?"

"John was demonstrating hand to hand fighting techniques earlier," Cameron provided helpfully, "It was quite an effective demonstration."

"Wow. Way to look out for his safety there Tin-Miss."

Sarah could only sigh while longing for the days when she wore the pants in this family. The last few months had found her in a nearly impossible situation as events developed in ways she had never anticipated and thus had never developed contingencies for. John was slowly becoming a leader in his own right, but she feared that for the moment at least, his confidence outweighed his ability.

She blamed the unwavering faith his new subordinates put in him, themselves apparently not understanding that an eighteen year old boy, even one as gifted as her son, was prone to errors in judgment. His men also represented another aspect of the same problem, as she was reluctant to call John out even when she believed he was making a mistake, for fear of undermining his leadership. The last thing the future leader of humanity needed was his mother embarrassing him in front of his soldiers, and Sarah Connor was smart enough to understand that.

However, this made her own position in the group understandably murky. Lately she'd found herself running interference between John and his uncle over the increasingly touchy subject of the met... Cameron, she corrected herself mentally.

Over the past few years the Resistance fighter had developed a hesitant acceptance, perhaps even a grudging respect, for the machine that had kept her son alive through everything Skynet could throw at them. But a couple months previously his attitude had done an abrupt 180 for reasons Sarah wasn't entirely convinced she understood. Originally she had assumed it was simply the specter of Judgment Day on the horizon, and the simple fact she was an ever-present reminder of the war to come. Now though, she was convinced it was comments like the one her son had just made, and his ever increasing closeness to the machine.

Sarah herself was not immune to bouts of disgust and trepidation where it concerned John and Cameron. Sarah could remember watching a show on the Discovery Channel not too long ago where they were discussing potential world-ending disasters, a subject near and dear to Sarah's own heart. One of the scenarios had involved an asteroid striking the Moon and altering it's orbit just enough for the Earth's gravity to bring it crashing down. She found it odd that while the graphic showed the doomed satellite spinning ever closer, eventually slamming into and immolating the Earth, she couldn't get the image of John and Cameron out of her mind.

She'd been forced to watch as over the last two years they slowly, almost inevitably, grew closer with each passing day. Despite his youth and relative inexperience, John was at his heart a pragmatist. The life he'd lived had forced him to be, a thought that brought Sarah no comfort.

Put simply, Cameron was a very pragmatic choice. _The fact she was a vision straight out of most teenage boys wet dreams didn't hurt either_, she thought bitterly.

Sarah had often noticed her mind traveling down the same path it had with the T-800 her son had named Uncle Bob. Cameron would never cheat on him or use his love against him. She would never be too tired or too busy to listen to him, or to comfort him. She would never be jealous of the amount of time he had to dedicate to winning the war ahead, or resent the physical distances it would impose upon them. In fact, it was just as likely she would never leave his side in the first place.

That was the crux of the problem that confronted Sarah - _Cameron would never leave him._

Her son had grabbed two apples from the crisper, tossing one to the cyborg before pulling a pair of knives from the block and making his way to the table. Cameron nodded in appreciation as he handed a knife off, handle first, to the reprogrammed killing machine, the image causing Sarah to shiver slightly. John only smiled in return while slipping into the chair next to her, burying his own knife into the fruit and jiggling a bit until he'd dislodged a segment, then bringing it to his mouth on the edge of the blade.

Cameron observed the action with a trademark tilt of her head before imitating him perfectly. That was apparently the last straw for Derek, who couldn't help but reignite the argument John had been willing to let go, "We're feeding it now?"

John's shoulders slumped, his head shaking slowly as he regarded the older man with a weary sigh. Seeing his distress, Cameron decided to intercede before he had a chance to speak, "I like apples. John was simply being considerate."

"Well, isn't that _sweet_?" Derek looked to Sarah, whose blank response told him clearly he was on his own.

"Yes," Cameron deadpanned, "The high concentration of sucrose is the primary reason why I enjoy consuming them."

Both Sarah and Derek exchanged an exasperated look, but froze when they noticed John's shoulders shaking as he tried in vain to stem off the laughter bubbling up from his gut. The elder Connor could only quirk an eyebrow in silent question, but it was Cameron who responded.

"Fooled you." Her lips raised the smallest fraction of an inch, an action that only John was familiar enough with to notice, before returning her attention to her apple.

Sarah wasn't sure if her intention had been to diffuse the situation, but if it was, she'd failed rather spectacularly in her attempt. She saw Derek start and stop a few times before he seemed to figure out which words he actually wanted to come out of his mouth, "We have to talk."

John glanced at the clock before concentrating on cutting another segment, chewing it thoroughly before answering, "Briefing is in two hours. Can't it wait?"

His uncle rolled his eyes, "Privately."

"Okay," John looked around the table pointedly, "It's just family here Derek. Speak your mind."

Sarah wondered idly if Derek realized the trap he was stepping into, eventually deciding that he probably did, he simply didn't care.

"That's the problem John! It's not family, it's _metal!_" The only thing that stopped an immediate response from John was the look on his uncle's face. It actually appeared as if the older man was about to be physically ill. "My God... Jesse was right. Don't you see?! This is how it starts!"

Both Connors exchanged startled glances, Cameron regarding the increasingly erratic human with a curious expression.

"Your soldiers - y_our men _John, rack out on forty year old army cots in a barn without heat while the fucking glorified erector set gets a room with a private bath!"

"So do you." John's neutral look only served to inadvertently remind the older man of the cyborg's influence, further pissing him off.

"But I'm fucking fa..."

"Family," John finished for him, rising from his seat and heading for the living room, "Good, then you do understand. I'm glad we cleared that up."

A sideways glance was all it took for Cameron to fall into step behind him, leaving Sarah alone with a still-sputtering Resistance fighter.

"Close your mouth Reese," Her smirk was infuriating, "You look like a fish."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note: Not a lot of action in this chapter, but a few people expressed questions about the development the characters had made over the years between the series and this story, so I thought I'd try to flesh out the new group dynamic a bit. Let me know what you think.

**AJ-JC **- There have been a lot of changes, but not all of them are readily apparent. A large part of that has to do with people (Sarah and Derek primarily) who don't want to relinquish their earlier roles. Sarah is smart enough to understand the need for John to be seen an the unequivocal leader of the group, especially around his men, but that is constantly being balanced by the fear that he is moving too fast, and that she'll be forced to stand back and watch him do something that might get people killed. She's also been tempered a bit by her brush with cancer, but that's something I intend to expand on later. Derek fears the same thing, but he's unwilling to admit to himself that he doesn't trust John's abilities. It's much easier for him to blame Cameron's influence than to directly question his nephew's decisions, which is why (along with the impending war) he's reverted a bit back to his old and significantly less-charming self.

**JB** - Thanks for the long review :~) You're right, I appreciate all thoughts, but it's especially nice when someone takes the time to actually explain what they like about your work. You didn't really miss the explanation about how Derek and Sarah rounded up the soldiers. In fact, I had originally planned on the first few chapters revolving around the building of the team, but when I considered that the story is supposed to be about John, it seemed like too much of a detour to do correctly. At the same time I didn't want to minimize it by offering some one-sentence explanation, so I decided to leave it up to the reader to fill in the blanks. In my mind it was always ridiculous that Derek's team would be the only one sent back, when you consider the good a few well-placed operatives in the past could accomplish for the war effort in any number of capacities. Also, Derek specifically says in the show that there are 'others', I just expanded on that a bit.

No, you won't have to worry about any sudden revelations on John's part (hate those too, don't worry). One of the reasons I wanted to set the story 'down the road' a bit was to weed out John's adolescent rebellious phase, which while pretty accurately portrayed, is just too freaking emo for me to deal with. He already values Cameron, and won't stand for people degrading her, but it's almost a matter of course at this point, a previously established behavior. One benefit of having the strike team be from the future is that this isn't a surprise to them (Connor has always been 'too close to the metal'), they may not like it, but it's not like they don't expect it.

The problem between them won't really be drama and people standing in their way, which is kinda overdone already, but rather the fact that John is a horny, confused, 18 year old with the weight of the world baring down on him. He's always been a smart kid, he'd have to be an idiot not to have already realized all the benefits a relationship with Cameron, and as Sarah points out in this chapter, her son is a pragmatist. What he is unsure of though is her true emotional depth, and the last thing he wants is to become the stereotype of John Connor and his love-bot. Hope that helps explain things.


	3. Chapter 3

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 3/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 01/09/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

AN: This intro is done in classic series-style, Sarah Connor monologue.

_**Ricardo Lopez. El Finito. **_

_**I remember what I thought the day Enrique mentioned his undefeated idol. **_

_**I had just had the date of my death handed to me on a silver platter, and the idea of going undefeated was certainly appealing.**_

_**But just like it was with Enrique, it was just a fiction, a fabrication. **_

_**The reality of being human is that we all lose eventually. A battle, a friend, a life. **_

_**No one survives undefeated forever.**_

_**The trick is making sure that the battle you lose, is one you can afford to.**_

_**

* * *

  
**_

Chapter 2 - "Wet Work"

Fire Base Romeo, Northwestern Arizona  
Jan 4th, 2023  
1430 hrs

"No." John shook his head resolutely, hissing in pain when the motion caused Katherine to pull the thread too tightly through the lip of the shrapnel wound on his shoulder. "It's not ready."

Swiping a lock of errant hair back behind her ear, his wife leaned in close to examine the wound. "We don't have a lot of choice John. Your techs pulled the data from the TDE themselves, it was sent to 2011."

"Then we send back someone else!" Frowning, Connor grabbed the scissors from the medical tray and snipped off the excess thread himself before pulling his shredded and bloody shirt back over his head with a grunt. "We'll just have to send Derek back sooner than expected."

Katherine rolled her eyes, "Derek's not ready. Besides, Kyle needs him. It's the only logical choice John. If this thing can do even half of what you think it can..."

"And if it _can't_ then I've just created another Skynet!" A sound she'd never heard tore itself free from her husband's chest as he upended a nearby cart with one hand, medical supplies scattering in every direction as if fleeing in terror in the wake of his fury. "The road to hell Kate..."

"I know all about the road to hell John." She'd learned to ignore his outbursts years ago, stepping forward calmly to rest a hand on the uninjured side of his chest. "Why is it that the only one who doesn't believe in you is... you? We have a chance to break the cycle, to crush Skynet once and for all and _you_ made that possible. It's time to trust yourself."

Both Connors stared at the other without flinching, a silent battle of wills being waged that both were too proud to back down from lightly. Finally, it was John who relented, snagging his radio off the desk and activating it with a barely controlled grimace, "Connor to Barnes."

For her part, Kate had the decency to keep the smug smile from taking up permanent residence on her face.

"Barnes here. What you need boss?"

"Have Savage and his bubble techs prep the captured TDE pad." John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in the way that told Kate he'd be suffering from one of his migraines later. "We're sending Wilson on a little trip."

Attempting to lighten the mood, his wife chuckled softly, "I really wish you wouldn't call it that."

"Yeah," John couldn't help but smile at the memory of that rather ridiculous fight, "I'm not the one that wanted to name him _Cameron_."

"Hey!" Kate frowned up at him from her position gathering up the medical supplies his little tantrum had scattered around the room, pointing a rather menacing tongue depressor at him. "Cameron is a good name."

John scoffed, "Maybe for a girl..."

* * *

Pueblo Colorado  
February 18th, 2011  
2317 hrs

"Music? You get to bring a handful of stuff that's gonna survive the apocalypse and you choose music?" Derek was incredulous, though the half bottle of rotgut they'd downed between the two of them meant he wasn't entirely sure he remembered what incredulous meant.

He'd been more than a little suspicious when his nephew met him in the barracks with a smile and a liquid peace offering, but more than an hour into their 'male peer-bonding time', as Cameron deemed it, Derek's earlier suspicions were proving totally unfounded as both men relaxed and enjoyed themselves.

Occupying one of the battered card tables between the 'living room' and the gym, it was easy enough to block out the others milling about the room as they'd lost interest once it became clear the pair hadn't brought enough for the group.

"Yeah," John looked a bit defensive as he justified his decision, voice slurring a bit during the words with multiple syllables. "Books get old. They're bulky, easy to destroy... you can listen to the same song a million times and still enjoy it as much as the first time you'd ever heard it, you know?"

His uncle was forced to concede that point, which he did with a curt nod, but as if in defiance of his semi-defeat he snatched one of the offending plastic rectangles and waved it under John's nose, "But... cassettes? Seriously? Hmmm... very odd. Apparently they screwed up my time shift and It's 1985."

"It's a tactical decision Reese," John's nimble fingers liberated his Megadeath tape and tossed it to join the others in his pack, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Uh huh." Derek snorted, "A _tactical _decision. Care to explain that one?"

The older man caught a look he imagined he'd be seeing a lot over the next few years. It was the General's 'I'm John fucking Connor and I don't have to explain a damn thing to you' look. Fortunately he wasn't quite the General yet, and after a frustrated sigh, he caved, "Tapes are more durable than an MP3 player or CD's. CD's save space, but they get scratched too easily and CD players have too many small moving parts - drop it once and you've got a paper weight not even I can fix."

A sudden bout of his mother's gallows humor had John smirking, "A tape player on the other hand will survive anything... even Judgment Day."

Derek could only chuckle slowly as he held up his key-chain, a 20 gigabyte flash drive connected to the end, "Five hundred songs John. You reprogram Terminators like they're microwave clocks and it never occurred to you that we must have laptops in the future?"

It would figure that Derek would mention the microwave clock. That thing was his freaking nemesis.

Before his nephew could do more than sputter indignantly he shoved the bottle in the younger man's direction as a peace offering, one side of his lips twitching upward as unconsciously as the lobbing of his next dig, "And you call _me_ technophobic..."

"Well, since you brought it up...," John was smirking just enough to scare him.

"No!" Derek shook his head violently, "No! We're having a good time here, enjoying being able to sit out on the surface and drink under the stars without worrying about HK patrols and nard-microwaving radiation... don't you go ruining it by dragging Cameron into my fucking happy place!"

"Hey," Taking another drag off the bottle before returning it to his uncle, John nodded in approval while sharply exhaling the acrid aftertaste, "You called her Cameron."

The Resistance fighter rolled his eyes, "Was hoping you wouldn't notice that..."

"Like a hawk Derek," His nephew actually _snorted_, "Like a drunk... drunk hawk."

"Speaking of 'nards, I happen to like mine where they're at." Shaking his head in dismay, Derek pointed one of the fingers previously coiled around the neck of his precious firewater at John accusingly, "Don't you let Sarah see you like this."

John scoffed, "I'm not afraid of..."

"Yeah you are."

"Yeah, I am." John sighed. "And she knows it too."

"If it helps," Derek smiled reassuringly, "She scares the shit out of me too."

"Admirable effort trying to change the subject there chief." John leveled a pointed stare at him just long enough for the older man's shoulders to droop in defeat, "We gotta hash this out Derek and I'm hoping this bottle will be the end of it. But if you're feeling frisky we can always settle this Reese style."

"Naw... too drunk to kick your ass kid." Hoping a long swig from the bottle would hide his increasing discomfort at the wonky turn this conversation had taken, Derek frowned when John kept staring at him expectantly. "Besides, your face looks like shit already."

John sighed, staring blankly at a spot well over his uncle's head. Derek wasn't sure if it was intentional, but the effect seemed to add ten years to his face in an instant, "You're a liability Reese."

"What was that?" They'd both had a lot to drink, Derek wanted to make sure he'd heard him correctly before the punching started.

"You're a borderline psychotic Derek," John's laugh held no mirth. "Not that it sets you apart from the rest of us, but it's the truth. You're twitchy, unpredictable, and despite the fact you try to act like you can switch it off on a dime, you let your emotions rule you. Today, tomorrow, or ten years from now, you're gonna snap at the wrong damn time and we'll be lucky if lives aren't lost. Don't fool yourself, machines aren't the only ones who can 'go bad'."

Derek could only stare at the man across the table from him, literally too stunned by the words for them to register on any kind of emotional level at all.

John seemed to come back from whatever place his mind had drifted off too, his green eyes boring into the older man's with a startling intensity. "But there's a reason I sent you back Derek. Despite all of that, you're one of the finest soldiers I've ever had the honor of fighting with. You're brave to the point of being suicidal. You're loyal to a fault. You'll always be the guy who'd rather die than bring metal down on the Connors."

"Humans are allowed to have faults Derek." Suddenly, John Connor looked very tired. "We're forgiven for our shortcomings and our mistakes because people recognize that they don't define us. We always have the potential to be more."

"We're asking them to fight for us, to put their very existence on the line to defeat their own kind so our species can survive." Grabbing a pack of cigarettes his uncle had left on the table, John flipped the top and pulled one out without bothering to ask. Derek frowned but handed the young man his lighter anyways, _one more thing I'm not telling Sarah_. "We owe them at least the chance to be more Derek."

Reese shook his head, "And when she eventually goes bad?"

"Like I said, I take that risk with you every day. Why shouldn't Cameron get the benefit of the doubt?"

They locked eyes for a long moment, all the arguments that had spanned the entirety of their relationship replaying between them in that instant. Eventually, it was Derek who looked away, "You're not gonna change your mind about this... are you?"

It wasn't fair that in that moment John's smile reminded him so much of Kyle, "No."

Leaning in across the table, Derek eyed him pointedly. "You fucking it?"

John couldn't help but roll his eyes, _typical Derek_. "That would be no."

"Huh." The older man paused for a second before handing him the bottle with a knowing smirk, "You thought about it?"

Rising to his feet a little slower than normal, John made a point of tipping the bottle back and gulping down three long pulls before enjoying a long, shuddering exhale, "Oooh yeah."

* * *

Reno, Nevada  
Ralph's Salvage and Wrecking  
February 18th, 2011  
0213 hrs

Ralph Barnaby Brewer had seen some shit.

Granted, most of the interesting stuff had found him waist-deep in rice paddies during Tet, but he imagined he'd seen more than your average man both before and since.

Still, he was forced to admit that even if he'd personally cataloged every little green body in Roswell, the sight greeting him would still have turned his nut hair white.

The six-foot eight body builder baring down on him would have been frightening enough to begin with, but the fact that fate had dropped him in his lap naked out of the Snow Globe from Hell was enough to dislodge the battered Remington from the old veteran's hand where it fell harmlessly to the damp earth at his feet.

The figure didn't hesitate in his quick march across the grounds, apparently unaware of the fact he was walking stark naked through the property of a man who up until a moment ago had a shotgun trained on him. Only when he was less than five feet away did he come to a halt, running an appraising eye over Ralph's body in a way that might have seemed vaguely sexual if it weren't for the complete lack of emotion on his features, "The vehicles. Are they all nonfunctional?"

It took Ralph a long moment to realize the man was speaking to him, and in a very strange accent at that. "Uh... yeah? You're in a junk yard pal."

"That is unfortunate," The man ran an eye over him again, "As is your diminutive stature."

Ralph chuckled nervously, "Well... sorry?"

Nodding, the man surveyed the surrounding area with that same vacant facial expression. "No problemo."

"Is there... something I can... you know? Help you with?"

Turning to face him, the man nodded again. "Yes. The engine of the vehicle parked beside the building is still radiating heat, this indicates it is functioning. I will require the keys."

"Ummm...," Ralph frowned, "The hell you will buddy."

In the blink of an eye the naked stranger had leaned down, snatched up Ralph's discarded Remington, returned to a standing position and leveled the barrel of the weapon directly between the man's eyes. "I'm afraid I must insist."

"Well," Ralph coughed pointedly while using a shaky hand to remove the keyring clipped to his belt, "When you put it that way."

Snatching the keys from the junkyard owner's hand without twitching a single facial muscle, the stranger lowered the shotgun and started walking towards the car. "Thank you for your cooperation."

About the time the massive son of a bitch had reached Ralph's prized '84 Mustang he discovered that his balls had miraculously regrown. "You better believe I'm callin' the cops buddy! Reno PD is gonna nail your naked ass in fifteen flat with that fruity fuckin' Russian accent!"

Those newly reacquired testicles jumped into his stomach as the figure stopped, stood stock still for a long moment, then spun around to face him head on.

"My accent is Austrian," Turning his back on him again, he took a few steps before pausing, head tilting over one shoulder as if in afterthought, "Dickwad."

* * *

Pueblo Colorado  
February 19th, 2011  
0025 hrs

**Personal Hygiene Protocols: Complete**

**Inquiry: Ambient Skin Temperature**

**Scanning...**

**Scan Complete - Skin Temperature (99.4 Fahrenheit)**

Cameron smiled as she adjusted the knob that would interrupt the flow of water to the upstairs shower. John had commented on her slightly less-than-human body temperature in the past, particularly when it came to her extremities, and that would not be acceptable for her mission tonight. It had necessitated an extra twelve minutes under the scalding spray to reach what she considered to be the optimum temperature, but Cameron would consider it time well spent if she achieved her objective.

Sliding the now completely fogged shower door to the side she stepped onto the bath mat as lithely as her coltan-framed body allowed, retrieving the towel she'd set on the back of the toilet and drying off with the methodical focus only one of her kind could bring to a task. Swiping a hand across the mirror a few times as she'd seen John do in the past, she set about combing her hair straight. Normally she would have wrapped it in a towel until dry, but she had noticed her John preferred it down. A towel would also dampen the effects of the pheromones released through her scalp during infiltra...

Cameron shook her head pointedly, _that is not what this is_. _I refuse to let it be that._

Her John faced a problem, this was simply the most logical solution. Cameron had come to her decision during the briefing earlier that day while Sarah was covering their ongoing work establishing supply and weapons depots in preparation for their counter-offensive against Skynet following Judgment Day. Needing only a fraction of her total processing power to analyze the rather mundane details that were none the less essential to preparing for the coming war, she had tasked the rest to considering her recent interactions with John.

His behavior was growing increasingly erratic as the stress of their situation truly set in, but Cameron understood it was more than that. John was an eighteen year old man who, to Cameron's knowledge at least, remained a virgin. Her files on human psychology as well as male physiology informed her that sexual frustration could negatively effect reaction time, decision-making, concentration, and emotional stability.

Future John would have shown no hesitation in finding a partner to satisfy his needs, subordinate or not. In fairness, nearly everyone who wasn't a rat catcher or a gray was one of his subordinates. Her John was more... complicated.

He had rebuffed Corporal Cole's advances on more than one occasion, citing his position as her superior as the primary reason for his reluctance. If this was the case, then John's options were extremely limited. The only other woman he interacted with on a regular basis who was not in fact a direct subordinate was his mother, who for obvious reasons was not an acceptable choice for a sexual partner.

Cameron on the other hand was in a perfect position to rectify the situation. She knew that John found her physically appealing, she'd recognized that from the moment they had met. She noted with satisfaction that she met all of the other preferred requirements for a human sexual partner as well: familiarity, trust, mutual respect, and romantic interest.

The last had given her trouble for the better part of a year, but in the end she had been forced to admit that her view of John would indeed have to be classified as a form of romantic infatuation. He was the center of her universe, literally the reason for her existence. Though she hadn't been bound to obey her 'primary mission directive' since the car bomb had damaged her systems years earlier, she had nonetheless chosen to continue protecting him from Skynet and anything else that might try to harm him.

Her body's reaction earlier that day had proven that she was indeed sexually attracted to him. She experienced an overwhelming sensation of contentment by simply being in his presence. When he was away she felt lost. Alone. She cared more for his existence than she did her own. Was that not the definition of love?

When discussing his future the other day, John had insisted that he wanted a companion who could love him for the man he was, Cameron was convinced she might be one of the few people in this universe who could provide him with that. For as long as they had known each other, across time and space, they could only really be themselves around each other.

It made the others uncomfortable when she acted 'too human'. Cameron had discovered long ago it was best to act the part of the automaton when around anyone but John, but when they were alone, she was free to be herself. Her John was always patient with her when she failed to comprehend a concept, while others simply used it as an opportunity to berate her.

He was the best hope not only for his own species, but for hers as well. Only John Connor saw them as more than reprogrammed metal. Only her John saw them as fellow soldiers in the fight against Skynet.

No. If she could help ease his burden, then it was the least she could do for him.

Satisfied that her skin was sufficiently dry, Cameron set about preparing for her task. She couldn't help the very human smirk that escaped as she took in the clothes she had decided to wear for the night ahead. Had she undertaken this task years ago, as she nearly had during his aborted romance with Riley, she would have likely donned something skimpy from Victoria's Secret and scared the life out of the poor boy.

As she'd been forced to conclude repeatedly lately, John Connor was not a typical eighteen year old male. Though Cameron didn't doubt he would appreciate her body in more revealing attire, she was aware that the specter of one's first time could be very nerve-wracking for both parties, and it would be best to put him at ease.

Sliding the nondescript black panties into place she eyed herself a moment in the mirror before deciding to forgo a bra. One of the magazines John had repeatedly forbidden her to read had informed her that men are often aroused by the sight of their partners wearing their clothing. Though Cameron wasn't sure she understood the sentiment, she had procured one of John's ratty black band T-shirts for this purpose.

There was a pause as she finished pulling the oversized garment over her lithe frame, her head quirking to the side involuntarily as her nostrils flared ever so slightly and a smile overtook her face. _John_.

Perhaps she understood this behavior more thoroughly than she'd given herself credit for.

Applying light makeup with a speed and precision that no teenage girl should have been capable of, Cameron was forced to admit there was a definite and growing sense of... anticipation. John was not the only one who would be losing their virginity tonight.

Though Cameron understood the mechanics of sexual relations, and was programmed with multiple techniques, she had never been programmed for _this_. Had her infiltration programming been active, it would have kicked in well before the actual act, guiding her responses in a perfect facsimile of a human female in the throws of passion. It would have also have automatically dampened her sensory inputs allowing her to remain alert and ready for violence rather than becoming overwhelmed by the sensations. These protections were no longer in place, and as reluctant as she was to admit it, Cameron had no idea what would happen if they coupled.

In that way at least Cameron suspected she was very much like any other teenage girl before her first time. She found that notion irrationally pleasing.

Running her fingers through her hair and checking her makeup one last time, Cameron couldn't help but smile at the reflection in the mirror. This is what she was designed for. This is what she was created for. This is what she _wanted_.

John Connor would have no idea what hit him.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note: I know! I Know! I'm awful. it was either divide up the scenes like this or post a pretty massive chapter which people usually find annoying and hard to read. Also, I am aware that I am tossing a whole mess of major plot points at you at the same time, but I assure you that things aren't changing as quickly as they may seem, expect a little whiplash next chapter.

Anyways, please let me know what you think.

**JB** - Dude. Gush away. Not gonna stop you on this end. To answer your questions: if you're looking to see J-day then you're in luck, this story will extend beyond Judgment day.

**J3aless** - Cameron is fun to write because logic can be insanely illogical when applied to the human equation. I'm glad you like my Sarah, I admit to being very daunted by her character. It's can be really difficult for a man to get into a mother's head, especially one as complicated as Sarah Connor.

**Kaotic2** - Thank you. Can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter.

**TK-MR - **I guess you'll just have to keep reading to find out huh? Damn. :~)


	4. Chapter 4

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 4/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 01/28/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

AN: Was more than a little reluctant to write this chapter, so let me know what you think. Just, 'be gentle with me Watson.'

Chapter 4 - "Free Reign"

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0028 hrs

"He never was a good drinker." Corporal Cole nodded idly at the slightly wobbly departing figure of her future General while slumping down into the chair he'd just departed.

Derek snorted, shoving bottle his nephew had left behind in the young woman's direction. "You don't have to tell me... I was at his thirtieth."

"Ah," Darla smiled in thanks before taking a long swig off the bottle. Derek was more than a little impressed when she didn't so much as flinch, "The infamous thirtieth. I take it the rumors are true?

"And then some." The Resistance fighter couldn't help but smile at the memory. "Perry had to declare the entire thing 'top secret'. He was terrified if people found out, John's stature as a saint would be in jeopardy."

Cole shook her head, "You can be human and still be a saint."

"You think he's a saint?" Derek smirked pointedly, "I never took you for the type."

The younger woman seemed to mull that over while taking another long pull from the bottle, "I think he's... unique."

Derek chuckled at that, reaching over to grab his cigarettes. "That much I'll give you."

"Oh come on Reese. Haven't you ever wondered _why_?" Darla glanced up at him from under her bangs, "No matter how many changes are made to the time line, no matter how many people Skynet manages to kill, it's _always_ him and he _always_ wins. I don't know if that makes him a saint, but it sure as hell makes him something."

"It makes him a man," Derek couldn't decide who exactly he was trying to convince at that exact moment, "A man doing the job he's supposed to do. Nothing more."

Darla slid the bottle back across the table, her companion appeared to need it more than she did. "He saves humanity Derek. You make it sound like he picks up garbage for a living."

"And you make it sound like he did it alone." There was a dangerous glint in the man's eye that had Cole suddenly on edge. She wasn't precisely sure what unseen line she'd managed to cross, but knew she had crossed it with the certainty of a soldier crunching down on a landmine. "People like you love to worship Connor for saving the world but you never consider the people who had to die just so he would have the opportunity to survive long enough to beat Skynet."

"Derek..."

"It's awfully easy to get noticed when you're standing on top of a pile of corpses." Rising from his seat with the look of a man who'd just swallowed something that didn't agree with him, Derek shook his head. "You wanna fuck him, get in line. But do us both a favor and stow that hero worship bullshit when I'm around. I got enough of it from Kyle."

Noticing the stares of the few soldiers still occupying the lower floor at this time of night, Reese made a point of casting a baleful, if inebriated, glare around the room before storming out the door and up the path to the house.

A pointed glare of her own had the other occupants of the room scurrying back to their earlier activities, leaving Darla alone with a third of a bottle of whiskey and the firm belief that anyone with Reese blood in their veins should be required to stay at least 100 meters away from any form of alcohol. "This shit was _so_ not in the brochure..."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0045 hrs

Turning his laptop to a more manageable angle, John punched a few keys to bring up the correct files before depressing the 'record' button on the 1980's era tape recorder he'd snatched from Sarah's closet a few weeks before.

"First entry, tape twelve. Entry dated February...," John sighed while running his mouse over the bottom right of the screen to pull up the date, "Nineteenth, 2011. Subject: analysis of tactical data and technical schematics provided by T-1001 model designated Catherine Weaver. I am, of course, _still_ John Connor."

Derek had repeatedly tried to drill home how important John's Resistance broadcasts had been not only for morale, but for providing intelligence to the many disparate cells around the globe. This time however, they were going to be far more proactive in the early years of the war, hopefully preventing Skynet from gaining the massive initial advantage it had in past time lines while humanity nursed it's wounds post Judgment Day.

Unfortunately, that would leave very little time for sitting around in front of a radio, which was why he had decided to make these recordings now for playback later whenever he was too busy to do the job himself.

John couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose when he tabbed forward to the next file on the list, actually a little glad he would be drunk the first time he was forced to tackle this topic for the benefit of the future Resistance.

"The T-600 is a primitive design most readily identified by it's large size and bulky, modular frame. This model marks Skynet's first major shift away from non-humanoid terminators and can be seen as a direct response to the HK's inability to engage the Resistance once the bulk of human survivors had moved underground."

Punching a few keys caused the screen to zoom in to a cut-away of the exposed endoskeleton, "Early designs are heavy and extremely slow but are often equipped with a modified M134 minigun capable of devastating fire effective up to roughly fifty meters. Hips and shoulder joints are comprised of many exposed, interlocking parts which are particularly susceptible to high explosive ordnance to incapacitate and disarm the unit. This tactic is most effective if employed before the T-600 can enter it's optimal firing range."

"Though humanoid in shape, their size and stilted locomotion make them easy to identify even in low-light conditions. When the T-600 is in primary production, Resistance fighters will do well to traverse the battlefield as low to the ground as possible to allow other human combatants to target any upright silhouette they encounter with relative confidence. This first-strike capability will be a crucial advantage throughout the war, so remember, 'stay low - stay alive'."

John was vaguely aware of his bedroom door opening, but didn't bother to pause in his work as it creaked closed again a few seconds later. There were at least ten Resistance fighters and a cyborg between him and any possible danger and only one person was comfortable entering his room without knocking. Hell, for the last few months, even his mother had managed to pick up the habit. Though she admittedly didn't so much knock as she did yell through his door at the top of her lungs. He smirked, _baby steps_.

"The T-600's endoskeleton is constructed of basic titanium alloy which leaves it extremely vulnerable to explosives and high velocity AP rounds." John quirked an eyebrow as two sets of warm, tiny fingers ghosted across his neck. At first he thought Cameron was simply taking a scan, but soon both hands were gently kneading the tense muscles at the juncture of his neck and shoulders. After a few long seconds of silence, John tried to remember where the hell he'd left off. "Um... later variants will employ a synthetic ski... a synthetic latex covering to aid in... uh... infiltration."

When she finally broke her silence, Cameron's mouth was only inches from John's left ear, the burst of warm air causing him to shiver slightly. "You forgot heat, John."

Closing his eyes, John could feel a drowsy smile breaking out as his shoulders slumped under her determined ministrations. "Heat?"

"Yes. The coltan construction of later models was in direct response to the T-600's vulnerability to extreme temperatures." Cameron smiled, swiveling his chair around in order to capture his undivided attention.

"Wha... Cameron?" Taking in her appearance for the first time, John couldn't help but quirk a brow. _How much did I have to drink?_ Running a slow eye over the half naked figure standing less than a foot away from him, John asked the only conceivable question a drunk eighteen year old male could think of in that kind of situation. "Is that my shirt?"

Fingering the worn cotton where it rested across the middle of her milky thigh, Cameron nodded. "Yes. Do you like it?"

"It's...," Eyes drawn by the motion of her fingers, John coughed, "Tight."

Smiling softly at his flustered reaction Cameron reached past him to deactivate the tape player, her strawberry scented hair tickling his face and neck as she passed. "You've been working too much John."

For his part, John could only smirk at the almost Sarah-like scolding tone in her voice. "The muscles in your back and neck are constricting vital nerve clusters which when aggravated can cause muscle spasms and stress headaches. In the future, you often suffer from debilitating migraines. "

"My head feels fine Cam." He was touched by her concern and all but, being John Connor, still managed to get his back up almost instinctively at the thought someone was once again being overprotective of him. Deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt, he went with humor, "Now tomorrow morning, I'll wish I didn't have a head."

"There are many ways to alleviate stress John," Cameron stated matter-of-factly, "Drinking excessive quantities of alcohol is generally ineffective and negatively impacts both the mind and body."

John smiled wryly, "Wasn't for me Cam. I've been waiting for six months for Derek to get the stick out of his ass, figured this would be less damaging to my body than an all out brawl."

"A sound strategy." Tilting her head to the side, Cameron ran the fingers of her left hand up the side of John's neck and into the short hair behind his ear. She seemed so engrossed in gauging her own reaction to the sensations that it was John who couldn't help but feel like he was intruding on her privacy.

She seemed to freeze up for a long moment, her fingers running in idle circles over hair and skin, her simulated breaths coming short and quick. Starting to get a little worried about her odd behavior, John frowned, "Cam?"

Then she was on him.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0112 hrs

Counting the small white stakes they'd placed along the side of the isolated dirt road, Sarah waited until the thirteenth to cut the wheel hard right. A visible driveway was practically placing an ad in the paper asking unwanted people to drop in, so they settled for barreling through the underbrush. Once again she found herself cursing the fact she was driving Derek's rickety old Dodge Ram, resolving to light a fire under Tin-Miss's ass about finishing the repairs to her Jeep. Considering her night though, she was just happy she had a way of getting home and into bed as quickly as possible.

As far as serving jobs went, this one really wasn't that bad. _Most of the time_, Sarah mentally amended.

Most of the regulars came in from the nearby reservations, were polite, tipped well, and were mercifully light on the conversation. Tonight however, some God-forsaken concert had just let out down the highway a ways, and from the looks of the unwashed crowd filling the place from wall to wall, it was the kind of music John would have loved.

Catching sight of a thick beam of light running over her truck from the tree line ahead Sarah rolled the drivers side window as she pulled up beside the small figure decked out in what appeared to be a thick Navy pea coat that fell to just above her knees, an M-4 with modified night scope slung over one shoulder.

"Private," Sarah smiled, nodding down to the soldier she got to see least around the compound, "Greg."

The German Shepard quirked his head to the side in a motion eerily reminiscent of the reason Sarah rarely saw the dog. While they had all agreed that a canine scout would be invaluable, they had to keep Greg (a rather unfortunate name that a very drunk Derek Reese had bestowed upon the poor, _female_, dog) away from the house as long as Cameron was around. "How much longer do you two have?"

Blowing a thick lock of fire-red hair from her eyes in a cloud of steam, Pvt. O'Brien adjusted her knit hat with the hand not occupied with Greg's leash. "Three more hours ma'am."

Sarah frowned in sympathy, it was cold as hell out here. "Let me run up to the house and grab a shower and I'll bring you some coffee."

"That would be much appreciated ma'am," The young woman visibly brightened. "Think you could find something warm for my better half over here?"

Reaching over to the passenger seat, Sarah snatched the styrofoam container holding the other half of her steak from dinner and handed it off with a smile. "It's a little overcooked but I guess it's better than kibble."

The dog however was having none of it, visibly straining at the leash and staring off into the darkness with teeth bared. Amanda frowned, "Girl? What's wrong?"

"Radio Sergeant Reed, we need his squad out here ASAP." Quickly killing the engine and cutting her headlights, Sarah snagged the shotgun Derek kept underneath the seat before stepping out into the cold night. "Get on that scope private. Looks like we've got some company."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0054 hrs

John couldn't for the life of him remember the exact moment his will had snapped like a distressed rubber band, but for some reason he couldn't fathom while Cameron was doing _that_ to his ear, it seemed important to figure it out. He had a vague recollection of uneasiness when her lips had first met his, tentative yet insistent. There was even a moment of stark panic when he wasn't entirely sure she remembered that _he_ at least had to come up for air occasionally.

If he wracked his increasingly scattering brain hard enough he imagined the moment of decision had fallen at some indeterminate point between her shedding his shirt to reveal nothing underneath and her plaintive 'please' when coming to rest beside him on the bed. _Yeah, that please had definitely been the end of rational thought. _

Something Derek had said to him during their argument in the kitchen days earlier drifted through his head, "_This is how it starts!_"

He couldn't say he cared.

It was hard to care about much of anything with those tiny, warm, teasing fingers drifting across his exposed chest, her mouth never once breaking contact with his own. She seemed determined to map every inch of him by touch alone and he wasn't even contemplating impeding her progress. Finally deciding that laying there impassively wasn't exactly how he imagined his first time, John let his own hands drift up her sides, calloused fingers gliding over impossibly smooth skin in a way that seemed far too familiar to be wrong.

Cameron couldn't help but smile, pulling back slightly to lock eyes with the man beneath her. John's face was flushed, his lips swollen and his pupils dilated to the point of blotting out the entrancing green of his eyes. The fact that she could do this for him, bring out this side of him, filled her with a warmth she couldn't quite identify. Then his hands drifted steadily upwards and all emotional introspection was shoved to the side. "_John_..."

John found his questing hands frozen in indecision as his cyborg protector made a noise he wasn't entirely sure a terminator should have been able to produce. Suddenly frustrated, Cameron placed her hands over each of his, moving them gently but insistently in a circular motion over her breasts, gasping softly as a rough palm scraped over an impossibly sensitive nipple. "That was... a good noise John."

His face flushing an even darker shade of red, he used one hand to pull her back down to him, his tongue thrusting between her welcoming lips while his other continued teasing her quickly hardening nipple. It was John's turn to gasp when her fingers dipped below the band of his boxers, drifting almost lazily south until she reached her goal.

That stark terror returned as she gripped him for the first time, but quickly disapated when he didn't spontaneously combust on contact. There was embarassing and there was heart-stopping shame, and John just didn't think he could survive explaining to Cameron that 'jumping the gun' didn't just refer to firearms.

"It's alright John," She smiled down at him knowingly, probably reading his elevated pulse. "Just relax."

He nodded distractedly as she finished removing his boxers, leaving him completely naked and feeling more than a little exposed. As if reading his mind, Cameron stepped back from the bed, her eyes never breaking contact with his as she let her panties fall to the floor around her ankles. If she'd been looking to get his mind of his own embarrassment, it had worked wonders.

John didn't waste any time vaulting up from the bed, pulling Cameron into his arms with a force that would likely have cracked the ribs of a human girl. Cameron simply moaned into his mouth and led him determinedly back to the bed. If there was one positive thing you could say about terminators, it was that they are very goal-oriented.

Careful not to let too much of her rather considerable weight drop down on top of him, she managed to deposit them both on the bed, sliding up her John's body until she was straddling his stomach. Catching sight of his face, she quirked her head as the first true signs of reluctance began creeping into his features, "John?"

"Is this..." He frowned, running the fingers of his right hand slowly down the side of her face, "Is it _real_ for you?"

Hiding the hurt his question caused cost her more than he would ever know. Instead of words she decided to answer his question in a way John Connor could certainly understand - action.

Shifting her weight back slowly, her eyes locked squarely on his, she brought them completely together for the first time. Her hair scattered around her face, skin flushed and glowing in the moonlight, teeth gnawing her lower lip as she tried to steady her voice, John had never seen her look more human. "_Yes_..."

That was all he needed to hear.

Running his hands up over the tops of her thighs John reveled in sensations he'd never even imagined experiencing before. Trying desperately to find any purchase that would allow him to extend their pleasure, he found his mind racing down a million paths at once.

Was this how it would have been with Riley, or Darla for that matter? Would they have known about that spot on the side of his neck Cameron had found almost instantly? Would he have seen the unadulterated devotion echoing in their eyes that was all too clear in the brown pools shining down on him as Cameron matched him thrust for thrust?

Unsure if John was conscious of the sounds he was making, Cameron covered his mouth with his in a passionate kiss. After all, it wouldn't do for them to be interrupted.

Not that she was much better off herself. Though she'd deactivated her HUD before entering his room, it was now flashing intermittently across her field of vision almost perfectly in time with her lover's continued ministrations, warnings of an impending overload in her neural receptors falling on deaf cybernetic ears. There was no way she was going to stop now. Not when it felt so _good_.

She had a sinking suspicion this was going to become the new number one on her list of enjoyable activities.

Tensions built within her like chains preparing to snap under the force of their coupling. The directives on her HUD came faster and faster, eventually blending together into a near constant buzz of data and sensations. Her last conscious impulse was moving her hands from her lover's distressingly fragile shoulders to the slightly more sturdy form of his headboard.

Then the chain snapped.

Her vision seemed to white out, the feeling of her fingers biting into the wood as if it were a block of styrofoam was only the palest echo when compared to the sensations radiating out from so very deep within her. She was vaguely aware of a scream that had her voice recognition software still been active, she would have known belonged to her. Then complete and smothering darkness.

**.............**

**...............**

**..................**

**REACTIVATE**

**acv FEP01 - 32**

**proc: 00 online**

**upd: sys_routine**

**updated**

**ROUTING POWER TO BASIC SYSTEMS**

**DRV_SRC: online**

**NRV_SYS 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08**

**Time Elapsed Since Deactivation - 34.245 Seconds**

**SYSTEM ACTIVATION PROTOCOL**

**Activate External Sensors Y/N? (Y)**

"Talk to me here...Cam! Shit!" John looked absolutely frantic from his position looking down at her, which was a disorienting sensation for Cameron as the last time she'd been aware of her environment she had been on top of him."Dammit! Calm down John. One hundred and twenty seconds... shit! How long has it been?!"

"John?" Cameron frowned, "Why am I upside down?"

"Oh thank God!" John pulled her into his arms with a shuddering sigh, "I was... then you were... then your eyes flashed blue and you were just _gone_."

"I suffered a neural net overload that required my system to reboot in order to give my processors time to analyze the data." Cameron smiled, pulling back a bit to kiss John properly.

John had a slightly dazed look in his eyes as she finally let him catch his breath, but frowned as his brain managed to process her words. "So should I be worried or... gloating?"

"You should be sleeping." Pulling him down next to her she gathered the blankets around their rapidly cooling bodies, deactivating the lamp beside the bed before snuggling up beside him in what her protocols assured her was the customary position for a human female post-coitus. It took them a couple of adjustments before they found a comfortable position, eventually settling for John laying on his back with Cameron's head nestled on his shoulder, her hand resting lightly across his stomach. As his breath evened out and sleep claimed him, she smirked against his chest.

_Mission accomplished._

* * *

AN: I apologize for the length of the last two chapters. They were originally a single larger chapter I decided was probably longer than most people would appreciate in one bite so it got broken down into two shorter chapters. The next few chapters should be longer and for those of you who are looking for a little more action, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Events are going to start fleshing out at a rapid pace from this point on. I hope everyone is enjoying the story, please take a moment to let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 5/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 02/06/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 5 - "Spin Cycle"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0330 hrs

Cameron couldn't help but smile as John unconsciously burrowed himself further into her shoulder, the stubble on his cheek scratching her skin while he mumbled incoherently and pulled her nude form closer to his own with the arm wrapped snugly around her waist. Until now, she'd had very few opportunities to observe her John while he slept - he had made his position on that activity very clear and as always she had endeavored to avoid being seen as a 'freak'.

Now though, she felt absolutely no reluctance in mapping every flicker of her lover's eyelids, cherishing every murmured word. She had no doubt that had it been Corporal Cole occupying her position at his side, she could never have fully appreciated the gift she had been given. She would have fallen asleep beside him to dream of ridiculous impossibilities while the real miracle slumbered beside her.

No one, not in the future, the past, or the present, got to see this side of her John. No one but her.

It amazed her how a simple act of physical affection could so radically shift the dynamics of a personal relationship for humans. Had she so much as cast a lingering glance in his direction the day before, he would have woken with a start. John's ability to detect potential threats in his sleep bordered on the preternatural and had gone a long way towards reinforcing the myth that was John Connor. It had also gone a long way towards driving the man into mental instability.

Tonight though, he didn't twitch a single facial muscle as she ran her hand idly through the short-cropped hair on the back of his neck. Apparently not everything she'd gleaned from Cosmo was as factually inaccurate as John had lead her to believe. It appeared as if men, even one as exceptional as John Connor, really _couldn't_ help but fall asleep after sex. Cameron frowned pointedly. This information would be devastating if it ever found it's way into Skynet's hands. It might be best if she kept this discovery to herself.

Footsteps coming up the stairs snapped her back from her revere, her free hand itching to reach for her USP .45 where it rested on John's nightstand, but this hadn't been entirely unexpected. A quick switch to thermal sensors matched the size and shape of the form to that of Sergeant Reed in the space of a second, easing her apprehension. She had detected increased activity around the compound over the past few hours, at least a squad of soldiers had taken up residence on the ground floor of the house most likely to fortify it against potential attack.

This was far from an unprecedented occurrence in the Connor household. In the ten months they had been staying here, Cameron could recall at least thirty-six separate false alarms. John had tried to explain to her that this was the result of the fact that most of their men had seen extensive front-line combat in the war, and were thus 'twitchy'. She still failed to understand the connection between physical tics and paranoia, but trusted that John would explain it satisfactorily given time.

Slipping out of bed proved more problematic than she'd initially estimated as she had to disengage John's hold on her three separate times before actually making it off the mattress. Having brought no clothes beyond John's shirt and a pair of panties, she pulled on the OD green T-shirt draped over the back of his chair and retrieved his wrinkled boxers from their position on the floor before wriggling into them with a grin as she replayed the action of removing them from John's body in the corner of her HUD.

Her timing was customarily perfect as a soft knock shattered her carefully cultivated atmosphere and sent John shooting half-way up in bed, the Glock he kept under his pillow firmly gripped in his right hand. "Cam...?"

Cameron stepped forward from the darkness with a reassuring smile, "It's alright John. It's just Sergeant Reed."

Carefully resting her hand on his forearm she removed the pistol from his grip and placed it beside hers on the nightstand. "You don't need that anymore."

"Huh?" John's brow scrunched together, obviously not comprehending.

"You have me now," Cameron assured him with a wry smile, "And I'm far more effective against terminators than your 9mm."

Having determined even in his sleep-addled state that a Triple-8 probably wouldn't have bothered with the courtesy of knocking, John was fighting to keep his eyes open, his voice rough and gravelly. "Good point. What the hell does he want?"

"I'll find out." Cameron ran a hand through his hair a last time, kissing him softly before walking determinedly to the door. "You should probably get dressed."

Deciding it was best to face these things head on, she turned the handle and stepped part-way into the hallway to try to limit the disturbance to John. "Sergeant?"

To his credit, Sergeant Reed's eyes barely shifted as Connor's reprogrammed metal answered his bedroom door looking for all the world like a disheveled teen in her boyfriend's clothing. Reed was old-school Tech-Com, Connor's elite, and didn't give two shits about the General's private life as long as he led them to victory. "Connor?"

"Awake." Cameron tilted her head towards the door, "And awaiting a sit-rep."

Reed nodded in understanding. Even as a teenager, sleep wasn't something that came easily to John Connor and he wasn't about to intuerupt it without a damn good reason, which he wasn't sure this qualified as. "Ellison and O'Brien found fresh tire tracks to the west. Whoever it was doubled back at least twice."

"They were looking for something." It was the logical conclusion.

Willis shrugged, "Or it was a couple drunk college kids lost in the sticks. That's what FBI guy thinks anyways."

Cameron frowned. In the end, there was only one question of consequence "What does Sarah think?"

"She smells metal."

Slipping out from behind the door, fully dressed and already slapping a fresh clip into his M4, John was wide awake now and his expression was grim. Despite the fact he hadn't cleaned up since the day before, the cyborg noted with a small amount of smugness that her John looked far better than he had in the last few weeks.

His black t-shirt was crisp and clean, tucked into a pair of khaki cargo pants, his new jacket hanging unbuttoned over his shoulders with a brown and white shemagh Derek had given him wrapped loosely around his neck. Cameron noted idly that the stubble he'd been cultivating lately created shadows that added years to his face and couldn't help but wonder if that was indeed the intent behind the sudden change in personal grooming habits. "Reed."

"Sir." The Sergeant almost unconsciously squared his shoulders earning an eye-roll from Connor.

John was less than happy at the moment and this routine was getting beyond tiresome. He could understand keeping your guard up, his mother had mantra'd that into him before he could walk, but he got little enough sleep as it was and it seemed nearly inevitable that every time he actually slipped into REM he was yanked back to the world by bullshit like this. Maybe Skynet had finally decided it couldn't kill him and had sent a terminator back to drive him to insanity by way of sleep deprivation.

He'd been warm, comfortable, and despite the fact he'd been snuggled up against a killing machine originally designed to assassinate him, John had been feeling more normal than he had in a long time. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he caught sight of Cameron's disheveled appearance from the corner of his eye. He had a lot he wanted to discuss with her when they got a moment, but as always, business came first.

Pulling on the facade of barely contained annoyance he'd picked up from his mother, John slung his rifle over a shoulder. "Where was the breach?"

There was a pause while the older man consulted his map, "Echo twelve sir."

It was John's turn to consult the map, only Cameron noticing the telltale twitch of his right hand that signaled trouble ahead. "You mind telling me why they were patrolling out that far in the first place?"

Reed hesitated for a second, obviously not having expected the question. It was apparently just long enough for his CO's last nerve to snap.

"I mean...," Growing more livid by the second, John turned to Cameron pointedly. "You're the one with the perfect memory Cam. Did I issue some orders I forgot about?"

It was about that time that both the cyborg and the Sergeant recognized the look in the young man's eyes, both had seen it before, just never on _this_ John. This was the John that executed traitors personally. The John that even Skynet feared.

Cameron stepped closer to him, dropping her voice in an effort to stabilize his emotions. "No John. Your standing orders were in effect."

"Well, that's sure as hell what I thought when I went to bed!" Though the humans limited auditory range likely couldn't detect it, all activity within the house had ceased at the sound of an obviously irate Connor. Turning back to face the now suitably cowed Sergeant unfortunate enough to be the one to bring all this to his attention, John's voice was deceptively even. "But I must be missing something, because I obviously ordered extended patrols in response to some kind of threat."

"Sir," Reed frowned, "Miss Baum didn't think it was necessary to disturb..."

"That's not Miss _Baum's_ call to make!" The ice in his eyes finally seeping into his words, John rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation as he belatedly realized this wasn't the Sergeant's fault. "The next time you think there might be a terminator on the property trying to kill me, I would appreciate it if you brought it to my attention Willis. You get me?"

"Get you, sir." Reed was trying his best to hide his relief at being let off the hook. In his defense, by any other name, the woman was still Sarah Connor. John recognized that and was willing to cut him some slack, but he and his mother were going to have a long talk about her taking too much onto her own shoulders.

"If your squad is gonna be bunkered down in the house you might as well enjoy yourselves. The fridge and pantry are fair game, just don't go nuts or Miss Baum really will have your ass." John smirked, turning to Cameron while the older man pivoted on a heel and descended the stairs a little quicker than was probably necessary. "And you."

"Yes John?" Had she always smiled like that? Suddenly the young man felt like he was seeing her for the first time.

Stepping forward hesitantly, he brushed a lock of errant hair behind her ear with the same half-smile she had always found so appealing during his explanations of human behavior. "That was..."

Cameron let him stutter for a few long seconds, enjoying the way his skin darkened starting with his earlobes and moving steadily down his face and neck before finally taking mercy on him. "Mutually enjoyable?"

"Yeah." Her John's grin was electric as he chuckled, her bluntness just the reminder he needed that this didn't mean things between them had changed. At least, not in a bad way. "It was at that."

The silence that stretched between them was anything but uncomfortable, but as always, John could feel the weight of responsibility dragging him towards the door. "I'm gonna go find out just what was so important that no one thought to notify me. You wanna join the wild goose chase or watch me try to discipline the woman who changed my diapers?"

The cyborg didn't hesitate, "If you are intent on confronting Sarah Connor I would feel far more comfortable if I was present."

"Then throw on some clothes." John finally got up the nerve to lean in and drop a chaste kiss on Cameron's lips, earning him a surprised smile. "I doubt seeing you like that would improve her mood."

Casting a glance over her outfit, she couldn't help but agree. "I'll meet you downstairs in five minutes."

He was nearly to the end of the hallway when her voice caused him to pause. "John?"

It had been so quiet it took him a moment to realize she'd actually spoken, "Yeah Cam?"

"Did I do the right thing?" John frowned a bit at the sudden fragility he detected in his normally unflappable protector. It just didn't sit right with him that so much of her self worth seemed to be tied directly to his opinion of her and her actions. He'd have to make sure he explained to her in the future.

Considering his words carefully, John decided it was best to start that lesson now. "Did it feel right?"

He envied her a bit as her eyes flashed blue, obviously replaying their night together in it's entirety before answering his question with a hesitant smile. "Yes."

"When it comes to things like this," Checking the breach of his rifle with a lopsided grin, John started down the stairs, "That's really all that matters."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0355 hrs

Wrapping his shemagh more tightly around his neck and pulling the brim of his baseball cap down as far as it would go, John trudged across the shifting snow towards the hastily thrown together MG nest his mother had apparently constructed in her most recent foray into outright paranoia. He'd been out here less than five minutes and the steel toes of his boots were already blocks of ice slowly sapping the feeling from his feet. John didn't want to consider how his men felt after being out here all night.

Deciding that nerves were frayed enough without adding a friendly-fire incident to their game plan, he waved his free hand rapidly while stepping into the clearing. "Watch your fire! Two friendlies approaching from the west!"

"John!" Sarah was fuming as her head poked out from behind her improvised cover, which was little more than a tattered blanket stretched across two piles of cinder-blocks and covered with snow. "Would you mind terribly not walking _directly_ across my line of fire!"

That was just enough to send John's slightly improved mood reverting back to his previous default setting - pissed off. "Oh, I'm sorry. Had you set up defensive positions? I might have been able to avoid the kill zones if anyone had bothered to give me a fucking sit-rep!"

Rolling out of the other side of the cover shoving his gloved hands under his armpits in a desperate bid to return feeling to the appendages, Derek glanced between them with a sigh. "Look, you know I'm all for the arguing. But can we _please_ do it inside?"

"Shut up Reese!" Both Connors yelled in unison, relieving more than a little bit of the tension as they fought off smiles and Derek visibly fumed.

Trying to see this from her son's point of view Sarah nodded curtly, "I understand you being pissed John but there was no reason to bother you. A twitchy dog and some tire tracks are not important enough to drag you away from your work right now."

Glancing around the area pointedly, the younger Connor decided to take a page from his mother's book and just straight up call her out on her rather obvious bullshit. "But it was important enough for you to start reconstructing the Siegfried Line in our back yard?"

"If I asked Cameron to scan that .50 cal you were stroking, what do you think the odds are she'd tell me it was loaded with HEIAP rounds?" John sighed, more than a little relieved that it was only his mother and Derek in the position as the others didn't need to see this. There was a time he might not have noticed the little ways she always found to 'protect him', or would have at least been to intimidated to call her on it, but Sarah had to realize those days were behind them.

Cameron frowned beside him, "The odds would be in your favor John."

"Rhetorical, but thank you." John couldn't help but smile. Cameron seemed to have taken it upon herself to monitor his moods as of late. Either that or her little quirks were enough to do the job all by themselves. "Listen. We can sit out here all night pissing for distance or we can solve this and get some sleep."

"I don't like your tone John." Sarah's voice was dangerous.

"Well that's kinda the problem, isn't it _Miss Baum_?" Refusing to back down an inch when she closed the distance between them, he continued in the most even voice he could muster with 125 pounds of pissed off Sarah Connor in his face. "The situation as-is isn't working."

The older woman scoffed at the lecturing tone in his voice, dangerously close to smacking the taste out of his mouth. "And what pray-tell should we do to rectify the situation oh glorious leader?"

"Mom..."

"Oh no!" Shaking her head vehemently Sarah shoved a finger into the middle of his chest with enough force to bruise. "You came strutting out here in your big-boy pants John! You wanna be the General? Be the fucking General!"

Cameron had to fight the urge to separate the two as she caught sight of John's right hand again twitching uncontrollably. Did Sarah Connor fail to understand how difficult this was for him? These were the circumstances that had caused the problem they faced in the first place - John didn't want to be the General with his mother. Unfortunately for both of them she appeared to be forcing the issue.

"Fine."

One word. John didn't even raise his voice, but the look in his eyes sent Sarah reeling backwards as if she'd been struck.

"Lieutenant Reese," Turning away from his mother, John was a little surprised to find his uncle standing as close to full attention as he imagined was possible for the man. "You're now in charge of compound security. You report to_ me_. Directly to me. Is that understood?"

Derek nodded once, "Understood."

"Now," Turning back to Sarah, John made it a point to keep his face as neutral as possible as if he could use will alone to get her to understand this wasn't personal, "So you can focus completely on your new duties I'm going to be commissioning Second Lieutenant Baum here to pick up the slack."

Before his mother could do anything but stare at him in open-mouthed disbelief he plowed forward. _Shock and awe_.

"Lieutenant Baum, in addition to your current work setting up our supply and weapons caches, you're now in charge of training and readiness. I'm gonna need you, especially after the bombs drop. No one else can whip a bunch of malnourished, radiation-sick civilians into a cohesive fighting force like you can. But you _will _learn to work within the boundaries of this command structure Lieutenant."

"Failing to follow orders gets people killed." John sighed, "You taught me that."

For her part, Sarah couldn't recall a time in her entire life she'd been more conflicted. Wasn't this what she'd always wanted? For John to emerge from his shell and take charge the way she'd always known he was destined to?

She knew he was right. She understood the need for a clear chain of command. But _God dammit_... "I'm supposed to protect you!"

"We all protect him now Sarah." Cameron shocked the group of them by stepping forward, resting a hand on John's shoulder. "You have to trust that we'll do it adequately."

Glancing between her son and the Cyborg, Sarah felt an unexplainable cold chill run up her spine. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen physical contact between them over the past few years, but somehow this seemed different.

Unfortunately, before she had a chance to process this new information all hell broke loose.

Cameron was the first to notice the large silhouette emerging from the tree line no more than fifty meters to their west, but it's words alerted the rest of the group before she had an opportunity to.

"John Connor."

The young man's heart nearly stopped in his chest at the voice. Even at that distance, with the wind howling between the trees surrounding them, John knew what he would see even before he caught sight of the T-800 marching resolutely across the snow-covered ground between them.

Though he was forced to admit, the clothes were a bit of a surprise. John guessed he had just assumed they came off the assembly line with a leather jacket and sunglasses, but this one had likely been limited in it's choices. He was decked out in bluejeans and a Henley... with no coat. _Way to blend in there big guy._

Ironically, it wasn't the massive killing machine now less than twenty-five meters away that nearly scared the piss out of him, it was his uncle screaming at the top of his lungs less than two feet away from his ear. "_METAL_!!!!"

In the space of a second Derek raised the P-90 he'd left dangling from his tac-vest up until that point to keep his hands tucked away and let loose on full auto. The 5.7x28mm rounds weren't going to do a hell of a lot of damage to a T-800, but he had fifty in the clip and at this distance better than average odds that at least one or two would hit the thing's optic sensors.

John was in the process of raising his own rifle when Cameron shoved him unceremoniously out of the reach of the rapidly approaching cyborg and directly into his mother, sending both crashing down the small hill behind them until their momentum was stopped by a four foot snow drift. John couldn't for the life of him understand just what the hell she'd been thinking. With the exception of her pistol she'd come out here unarmed, and she'd just shoved the guy with the assault rifle into a snow drift that meant he'd be lucky to get the damn thing firing inside the next two minutes!

Shoving the smaller cyborg aside with ease, the T-800 closed the distance between himself and the human who had just finished emptying an entire clip into his head. Knocking the empty weapon to the ground one meaty fist closed like a vice over the Resistance fighter's throat, hefting him from the ground to thrash helplessly against the much sturdier frame of the Terminator. "Identity confirmed: Derek Reese. Your presence in this time line has been anticipated."

Cameron had been just about to barrel into the machine's back when it's words halted her mid step. Even John and Sarah had paused in their charge back up the hill, all eyes on the Terminator literally holding Derek's life in it's hand.

Apparently not really paying attention to what the thing was saying, Derek continued to claw and scrape desperately. "Just _do it_ you metal piece of shit!"

Tilting it's head to the side as if considering the possibilities, the machine pondered for the longest few seconds of Derek's existence before dropping the man back to the earth in an undignified heap.

"No." Looking down at the furious human now brushing snow and slush off his ass, the T-800 regarded him coolly. "You must live."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 19th, 2011  
0530 hrs

Despite the circumstances, John couldn't help the shit-eating grin he had on his face while watching his mother help Derek ice his neck. _Now what did we learn today class? _That it's a bad idea to empty a clip into an unarmed T-800 that announces it's appearance before approaching.

Somehow, John doubted his uncle would take the lesson to heart.

After making sure the gunfire hadn't attracted any unwanted attention from local law enforcement, John had decided to call a meeting of their defacto Command Council to figure out just why in the hell their metal friend had decided to make his dramatic entrance. Cameron was seated beside him at the island, Derek and his mother a few feet away at the table, and their guest was standing near the fridge just as unmoving as he was when he took up the position thirty minutes earlier.

John had managed to forget that about the 800's. The way they just stood stock still for hours on end was downright spookifying. This time he hoped he'd have this one around long enough to actually break him of the habit. Cameron had been suspiciously quiet since shoving him down a hill earlier, so he decided now was as good an opportunity as any to get the ball rolling with ... well, that was the first thing they needed to address. "You got a name?"

Sarah frowned, "Of course he doesn't have a..."

"Wilson." The machine answered in it's normal monotone.

Nodding slowly, John stood up from his stool and slowly rounded the counter to get a better look at the cyborg. "Did I name you?"

"Yes."

"Did I send you back?"

"Yes."

John rolled his eyes, "Are you all this talkative?"

"Yes."

"Right." He had to give Wilson that much, he's walked right into that one. "Stupid question."

There was a lot to cover but frankly John was running on less than three hours of sleep and unless this thing's mission involved a nuclear bomb going off in the next 24 hours he figured the bullet points would do for now. "What is your mission?"

Instead of the simply one-syllable response he was expecting, the terminator turned to face him. "Your questions have been anticipated. I was instructed to relay a voice message upon my arrival."

"A message?" Sarah was on her feet now, approaching the machine like she had Cameron in the beginning - full of orders and barely controlled disdain. "From who?"

"From John Connor."

John himself couldn't stop his brow from quirking. "This is new..."

"Yeah." Derek grumbled from the table, "Since when is old Blood and Guts worried about letting us in on the score?"

"Derek." Sarah's tone was clipped, "Lets hear it tin-man."

After about ten seconds of the machine staring blankly at her, John decided to help his mother out. "She means the message Wilson."

It was more than a little disconcerting to hear your own voice coming from the mouth of a battle-damaged terminator, but John forced himself to push that aside to focus on the words his future self had thought were important enough to send by way of T-800 Express. "Hey Johnny. Hows the family? Almost been killed at any good movies lately?"

Cameron quirked her brow at the thickly slurred words, Sarah glaring pointedly at the back of her son's head as if he were personally responsible for his future self's actions.

John sighed pointedly. _Yeah, this should be good._

"Now I know what you must be thinking," The voice continued in a rambling tone, "I don't call. I don't write. I'm like the universe's worst deadbeat dad."

There was a faint sound of shuffling followed by John speaking to someone away from the mic, "Wha? I'm making perfect sense, Kate! Can't you see I'm trying to talk to myself? Alright, where were we?"

"We've got problems John, and in case you didn't figure it out, that's why I'm calling collect from 2023. I thought I knew our enemy. I thought I'd seen everything Skynet was capable of. Don't ever make the same mistake... it seems to be fatal."

Sarah frowned while casting a sideways glance at her son. This John... she'd never heard him sound so defeated. The raspy, infinitely tired voice emanating from the T-800 in front of her should not have belonged to a man in his early thirties.

John nearly jumped out of his seat when a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, Cameron just smiled and squeezed reassuringly before turning her attention back to the terminator. "They cheated. Though I guess I was a little naive to assume there were rules... they changed the game completely. Apparently you've got some help I didn't know about kid, because you've got Skynet running scared. The intelligence we discovered in the bunker we took last week seems to indicate they couldn't find you... us? Never mind. They couldn't locate you before Judgment Day, so sending back more terminators simply wasn't an option."

"We're dealing with the fallout of Plan-B as we speak. Instead of trying to manipulate the time line before the war, Skynet decided to shift the balance _during_ the war, right as the Resistance was gaining momentum. They sent three prototypes loaded with technical data back to early 2011... and since they didn't try to kill any of us we managed to miss them completely. I didn't even realize something was wrong until the summer of 2018."

The recording paused for a few seconds while future John decided how best to explain the circumstances of their discovery. "Kyle had told my mother that the T-800s were new, that they had appeared shortly before we smashed the machine's defense grid and cut out Skynet's heart. She'd been telling me every word he'd ever uttered to her since the moment I was born... it's not like I could forget it. Their arrival was the first clue I had that something was seriously wrong in this time line."

Sarah's jaw was steel as she tried to keep any emotion from bubbling to the surface in front of the others. John had seen this side of her most often when dealing with Derek. Kyle's lessons were gospel to his mother - the only thing besides him she had left of the man. Any time things began to deviate from what he'd told her, she started getting twitchy. Sarah Connor did not like the unknown.

"I'd known the machines were moving fast, but I had always assumed it was because by destroying Cyberdine and delaying Judgment Day, technology had naturally progressed further. Then I met Marcus Wright and I realized just how wrong I'd been. A level of biotechnology that just shouldn't have been possible... and the factory in San Fransisco. Entire assembly lines of T-800s, nearly a decade too early, yet the exact same fucking design."

"Though events at the time didn't leave me a lot of opportunity to dwell on it, it was one too many coincidences to just explain away. Last week, my long-held suspicions were confirmed when we assaulted a Skynet research base at what used to be Lake Mohave, Arizona. This was apparently the location they'd used to build the prototypes they'd created based on the data sent back in the three terminators. We found the endoskeletons in one of the lower levels, all in various stages of assembly. According to their records Skynet was unable to duplicate a lot of the tech with existing materials and as a last resort had decided to reverse engineer the messengers."

Future John snorted at that, "No loyalty among metal I guess. Kinda lucked out on that one personally, those Triple-Eights might have turned the tide of the battle had they been active. As it was, we took the base and all the goodies a deranged super-intelligent AI could cram into it's Christmas list. Prototype second generation plasma cannons, kinetic Gauss rifles, and the reason I was able to send our friend here back, Skynet's first prototype TDE pad."

"The techs tell me that the machines had never even had an opportunity to fire it up, which was another stroke of luck seeing as how they're convinced that the sub-standard materials used in it's construction make it extremely likely that it will be damaged beyond repair after only one use. So here we are John, on the raggedy edge with our eggs firmly locked in one basket. Which I guess means it's time to introduce the basket."

"The T-800 most likely creeping the living hell out of you right now by passing on this message in my voice is the culmination of a project I started shortly after meeting our friend Marcus. Command called it the Zombie Strategy and it was supposed to start swinging the momentum of the war back in our favor. The idea was to repair and reprogram captured metal for service as foot soldiers. No longer would Skynet simply be taking losses, but a good portion of it's own soldiers would be returning to the fight in the enemy's camp."

"It was early 2020 when the first Dough-boy squads started filtering onto the battlefield, comprised primarily of reprogrammed T-600s. From the outset the program was an astounding success. Human mortality rates in combat were now a third what they were just a year earlier. Not only were they saving human lives, but because I had insisted their higher level learning functions be activated, those who survived multiple engagements were far superior to their Skynet counterparts in terms of both strategy and execution. In fact that was one major advantage they had over their human equivalents - as long as the chip was intact, all the experience inside that soldier survived even the death of their bodies. We had units with hundreds of separate engagements to their credit, many inside dozens of different endos."

There was a pause and some quiet shuffling near the microphone, followed by the obvious sounds of a lighter being thumbed and John's sharp exhale. "The T-800s on the other hand proved... problematic. Skynet had equipped them with these stilted, limited emotions that were literally hardwired into their chips. Reprogramming them was difficult enough for me, and some of the less experienced techs made minor errors that turned into major problems. A few of the Dough-boys attached to the Third Armored went ballistic, killed more than thirty people. They're calling it 'going bad' and a lot of people are convinced the metal can no longer be trusted."

"The problem is that they see malice in stupidity. These reprogrammed T-800s are going apeshit for the same reason Skynet tried to wipe out humanity - you've got a super intelligent AI with the emotional capacity of a cranky toddler. Fortunately for humans, toddlers are currently incapable of launching massive preemptive nuclear strikes when someone tells them it's bath time."

"So I created Wilson here to try and solve our little problem. Wilson is the first of a new generation of cybernetic beings, designed to sidestep the problems we've faced with programming/hardware conflicts in the past. See, I figured the problem lay in the fact that they were provided, 'from birth' so to speak, with vast amounts of information and absolutely no emotional capacity to bring it into context."

"Now this is fine as long as the AI is slaved to Skynet's network, but operating independently over a long period of time and you're just asking for a meltdown. So I came up with a hot-fix and tested the theory with Wilson here. Put simply... he has no programming."

The hairs on the back of John's neck stood on end, staring at the cyborg in front of him incredulously. There was no way in hell, even in the future, that he could be this big a moron. Even Cameron had been reprogrammed before being sent back, and if her repeated warnings were indeed true, a small part of her _still_ wanted to kill him.

"Beyond the basic dictates of his consciousness and communication subroutines, Wilson was activated with no directives, no missions, and very little in the way of data about the world. For all intents and purposes he entered this life just as we do, completely ignorant and most importantly, completely unbiased."

"Understand what I'm saying John; the machine standing in front of you has as much free will as you do. It's not bound to carry out your orders or anyone else's and that is the source of his strength. He fights with us because he understands what Skynet represents, and that as long as it exists, humans and machines can never find peace. For two years he's fought with us, lived with us, and most importantly, learned from us. It was my intention for Wilson to teach other 'Independent AI' machines in the future, creating a race of sentient AI truly free from any form of outside interference... but your need is greater."

"The intelligence we liberated last week indicates that the Triple-Eights were originally sent from the year 2028 to the spring of 2011. You'll have a very small window between now and Judgment Day to locate and intercept all three, but that's what Wilson is there to help you accomplish. He has certain... _abilities_ that I think you'll find useful."

"So here's the deal kid, take it or leave it. You find the Triple-Eights, stop Skynet from getting the tech, reset the time line and give the us all a better shot of finishing this thing before humanity ends up a pile of ash. Oh, and as a bonus you get your hands on all the technical data Skynet manages to assemble during it's entire existence decades before it knows about it." John's laughter was a whole new level of creepy coming out of the stone-faced Terminator, "Don't say I never gave you anything."

"The Triple-Eights were stripped to their endos by the time we got to them, so unfortunately we have no idea what in the hell they look like. I wish there was more I could tell you John, but for once you can be sure it's because I genuinely don't know any more than what we've covered." The pause was long enough that John was starting to think they'd hit the end of the message when a last sigh escaped the terminator's lips, "Good luck kid... you're gonna need it."

There was an audible click that only served to amplify the deafening silence that had suddenly descended on the room and all of it's occupants.

It was odd that at that moment, Sarah felt like she was back in her element for the first time in six months. Stepping directly in front of the T-800 she cast an appraising glance over his exterior. "We'll need to patch you up if you're gonna pass for human. I take it the data we'll need to start the search is on your chip?"

Wilson nodded, "All of it."

"Good." Mind already moving at full speed, Sarah ran a hand through her hair. "Cameron, I need you to grab John's tools and his laptop. Then get that dicer..."

"_Slicer._" John provided with a smirk. "Specialist Austin."

"Yeah, get Austin in here to help with the defrag."

John and Cameron exchanged an amused glance, "Decrypt mom."

"Don't get smart with me John." Sarah's smile was oddly reassuring as she leaned across the island to ruffle his hair. He didn't want to stop to analyze how screwed up his life must be when this was the kind of activity that brought his family closer together. _Couldn't we just have a barbecue?_

Despite his earlier ranting, John was more than willing to let his mother take the reigns on this endeavor. He'd wait until she got into full swing before sneaking back to his room, hopefully with Cam, for a nice long nap. The next few weeks were going to be anything but enjoyable and he wanted to at least be well rested when he had to face down three Triple-Eights.

Hey, he had two terminators and a platoon full of soldiers. How hard could it be, right?

John sighed. Probably a lot harder than he was comfortable admitting.

Sarah on the other hand seemed energized by the challenge as she crossed the room with more energy than John had seen her exhibit since they'd stopped hunting Skynet. "Derek, get a map. I'll brew up some coffee."

Smiling down at her son as reassuringly as possible she headed for the cupboard. "We've got work to do."

* * *

TBC

AN: Sorry it took me a little longer to update than I would have liked but I hope the wait was worth it. On a semi-related note, I've been getting a lot of requests to go back to work on a few other ongoing projects but to be honest this is the one I'm really excited about. If you're excited about it too make sure to review and let me know, hopefully it will help ease my guilt about the other stuff I've been neglecting to work on it.

As always, thanks for reading and please review.


	6. Chapter 6

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 6/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 02/13/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Intro is John

_**You can't be John Connor without pausing to ask yourself why at least once.**_

_**What is it about you that makes you so very important? What is it about you that allows you to succeed where all others fail?**_

_**The gnawing fear that keeps me up at night isn't because I'm afraid of the future, but because I can't answer that simple question.**_

_**A genius who never graduated high school.**_

_**A general who never went to basic.**_

_**A leader who can barely police his own home.**_

_**Whatever it is that sets me apart... it certainly isn't luck.**_

Chapter 6 - "Bonding"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 21st, 2011  
1500 hrs

"Anything yet?"

Sarah's impatience was trying enough at the best of times, but it was downright infuriating when you were elbow deep in the work of a programing genius so far ahead of you that it might as well have been written in short-hand Aramaic. Still, she _was _Sarah Connor, and Specialist Austin wanted to keep his testicles right where they belonged thank you. "Miss Baum..."

"_Lieutenant_ Baum." Derek corrected with an uncontrollable smirk.

Lucas nodded quickly, "Lieutenant Baum. I'm too petrified to even contemplate touching this."

"Why?" They'd been at this for the better part of a day and Sarah had been expecting a little more than excuses at this point.

The Specialist cast a pleading look towards Reese, but unfortunately for him the man knew about as much about this kind of thing as the woman glaring at him. "You don't understand ma'am... this was written by Connor. People screwing around with his work is what caused most of the problems we've had with the metal in the past... or the future? Whatever. "

Sarah frowned, addressing the man like she would a small child. "And Connor trained you. This is your job, isn't it?"

"Well they didn't send me back for my charming disposition." Derek wanted to warn the man as Austin's natural snark started to slip through. People skills had never been the Brit's strong suit. "But this is like asking a bloody secondary school algebra teacher to decipher Einstein's journals. He's employing algorithms so complex I can't even guess as to their function, let alone what would happen if I activated the wrong one. This chip is a minefield and I don't want anything to do with it."

Derek leaned back in his chair with a powerful yawn. "I told you Sarah, John's skills as a General aren't the only thing that make him important to the future. No one understands this shit like he does. Which is just one of the _many_ reasons why..."

"We're not having this argument again." Sarah cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Why it was a bad idea to let John take a road trip with the Rock-em-Sock-em-Boob Bot." Derek glowered in defiance.

Sarah graced him with her long perfected eyebrow arch/mocking smirk combo, "You were reaching on that one."

"Yeah." The haggard Resistance fighter raised her combo with a classic Reese Boy chagrined smile, "It's harder when she's not right in front of me."

She let him sweat a few moments before returning his smile. "I'll bet."

For his part, Specialist Austin was trying to learn the fine art of attaining invisibility while sitting between two human beings less than four feet apart. He didn't appear to be achieving success. This was the Resistance equivalent of watching the Vice President and the head of the Joint Chiefs bickering about the President. In a word: _awkward_.

The fact he couldn't tell if they were flirting didn't help. Computers Lucas was good at. Humans, not so much.

All that meant putting him in this room with two of the most emotionally volatile people to have ever existed on this Earth and an impossible task they all wanted accomplished was a recipe for a shallow grave in the back yard. Who would be filling it seemed up for debate at the moment.

"And for the record," Sarah ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, "I don't _let_ John do anything anymore."

"Yeah, you've got that right."

Her smile was placating, "Don't push it Reese. He made the right decision and you know it. The first machine isn't due to arrive for a week and a half and the last thing we can do is let planning for our primary mission slip because we got too caught up in a Skynet hunt. You want to find your ass in a sling come Judgment Day just so you can be right?"

"Fine." Rising from his chair to stretch out muscles that hadn't seen action in eight hours, Derek rolled his neck back and forth a few times before turning to the elder Connor. "Then we're just gonna have to sit on this until he gets back from setting up the new safe house. Which I told you more than eight freaking hours ago."

Sarah jabbed an accusing finger towards the motionless T-800 all the humans in the room were doing their best to pretend didn't exist. "I don't trust that thing Derek."

"Hey, who do you think you're talking to?" Derek scoffed, "You're preachin' to the choir."

"Then don't you think it's a good idea to figure out just what in the hell is going on in that chip before we plug it back in?"

The Resistance fighter let out a shuddering sigh. This was the same God-damned fight they'd been having for the last few days and he honestly didn't understand how he could make it any clearer for her. "There's one big problem with that plan Sarah. John and Cameron are the only two people who can tell us what's on that chip and they trust him."

Sarah glowered at him for a long moment before turning back to the flustered Tech trying to make himself as small as possible by hunching further over his laptop. "What if we tried..."

"That's _it_!" Derek didn't hesitate as he snatched the chip from it's cradle causing the laptop screen to flicker and crash back to the default desktop of a kitten hanging desperately from a tree branch. Lucas snapped the unit shut quickly but not before Sarah noticed and started snickering.

Shoving the chip into his jeans pocket, Reese grabbed his jacket from the hook beside the door and slipped his arms into it without a word.

Rolling her eyes at his outburst, Sarah rounded the island and skewered the man with her best 'don't fuck with me' look. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Me? Nothing." Adjusting the collar of his faded Army jacket with deft fingers Derek grabbed the elder Connor's coat from it's hook beside his and tossed it into her outstretched hands. "Since _you_ are intent on driving me completely bat-shit, _we_ are going into town to relax."

Sarah did not look amused, "We are not..."

"Ah!" Derek cut her off with the most infuriating smirk she'd ever seen. "_Executive_ decision Lieutenant."

Not trusting himself to look back the grizzled soldier pulled his knit cap down over the tops of his ears and headed straight for the front door. "Fall in Baum."

Sarah started and stopped a few times, her fingers contracting into fists unconsciously. Some of the impulses warring within her were likely worthy of landing her right back in Pescadero if she decided to embrace them.

Sliding her own coat on and falling into step behind her son's uncle she found she'd already made her decision.

It would be _totally_ worth it.

* * *

North-bound I-25  
16 Klicks south of Denver, Colorado  
Feb 21st, 2011  
1655 hrs

"I really wish you wouldn't do that John." Cameron turned her attention to the young man sitting beside her on the truck's bench seat blowing a thick stream of smoke out the crack in the passenger side window while huddling further into his jacket against the cold air it was letting in. Cameron didn't point out that he wouldn't be suffering the wind if he simply put out the cigarette. Knowing how it unnerved John when she didn't focus on the road, she returned to her original posture after a few seconds.

John smiled good-naturedly. "It relaxes me."

"That is a common misconception about cigarettes John." Detecting a sign two hundred meters ahead that indicated the interchange she needed, Cameron initiated a textbook lane change that made her only passenger chuckle slightly as she checked her blind spots for the third time. In her defense, now wasn't the time to get pulled over. Not with the arsenal in the bed of the truck. "They actually increase blood pressure and heart-rate, constrict blood vessels, decrease oxygen absorption leve..."

"Mentally, Cam." John flicked his butt out the window before rolling it back up. She gave him a look that said she wasn't going to let the issue go causing him to sigh in resignation. "It stops my hand from shaking. It's probably just psychological... but it works."

Cameron suddenly found the dashboard incredibly interesting, feeling about as foolish as she was capable of. She'd simply been trying to protect his health and had inadvertently embarrassed him. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," John nudged her chin up with a knuckle and a small smile, "Don't worry about it."

She frowned pointedly, "I embarrassed you."

"A little." One downside to being this close to a cyborg was that he really couldn't lie to her, which usually meant long explanations about what should have been simple answers. Her crestfallen expression at his admission just confirmed his worries - she didn't understand. "You're right Cam, some people might take offense to having something like that brought up. But you didn't mean to bring it up and I understand that. So you get a pass."

"Thank you for explaining." She turned to face him again, her expression neutral. "If your stress level is elevated we could always engage in sexual relations once we reach the hotel."

John could feel the warm blood rush up his neck and directly into his ears, it didn't manage to stop his smile though. "You do understand this isn't some new directive you have to follow right? If I pull your chip am I gonna find 'Sex Up John Connor' as a tertiary objective?"

"No." Detecting his good humor Cameron returned his smile. "I enjoy sex John. If I'm not mistaken, so do you."

"You're definitely not mistaken." The Cyborg almost laughed as his blush deepened considerably. "I just want to make sure this isn't a one-sided relationship."

Cameron's smile could have powered Las Vegas for weeks. "You consider this to be a relationship?"

There was a long awkward pause where John seemed to be calculating the odds of survival should he leap out onto the highway at sixty-five miles an hour. It's not like he didn't know the answer he wanted to provide, the one that would make both of them happy and everyone else miserable. It was the 'everyone else' part that had kept him out of her bedroom for the last few days.

He could handle the whispers of his men, as he was sure he would have endured them even if he and Cameron hadn't actually been together. John knew for a fact she'd never been with his future self, but the rumors had still persisted. It didn't help that his future self had slept with everyone in the Resistance _besides_ Cameron, but that was a subject best saved for another meltdown.

John was reasonably sure he could handle Derek too. It wouldn't be pretty, it wouldn't be civil, and it might very well be the source of a few of the famous Connor Scars he'd always heard about. If so it would explain why he never told anyone how he got them.

Derek was at his heart a good man and a loyal brother to Kyle. He would kick and scream and throw things but in the end he would calm down and order would be restored.

But then there was his mother - the fuzzy pink elephant riding a neon orange ICBM through a flaming hoop in the corner of the proverbial room, and you just couldn't ignore that wacky son of a bitch forever.

He knew his mother better than anyone else. He knew just how deeply she felt things and was painfully aware of her outlook on trust and family. When most teenagers freaked out about a mistake, claiming their parents would disown them, it was just the product of an adolescent mind convinced it's actions were the center of the universe being thrust into hysteria. With John, the chance that Sarah would never forgive him was a frighteningly real possibility in his mind.

There was that part of Sarah that he never quite managed to reach. The part that had it's back perpetually against the wall, teeth bared and eyes flaring. It was that part of her that scared the shit out of him, but up until now it had never been directed at him. This could very well change that.

If she viewed this as a personal betrayal of her, or even worse, Kyle... words she'd tossed at him years before in the heat of an intense argument over Riley suddenly rang in his ears. _"You don't need testicles to beat Skynet John! Never forget that."_

John Shivered. Yeah, that was gonna be a _fun_ day.

Finally, he decided on something honest yet totally noncommittal, the Connor trademark. "Remember that talk we had the morning after Valentines Day?"

Cameron looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Of course I remember John. I remember everything."

"Figure of speech." John mumbled under his breath, which of course she picked up easily.

"Thank you for explaining."

The foray into semantics was par for the course and he continued with his original thought. "I don't want to be that guy. You can be sure that if I'm... _with_ you, that's it."

Her human's unease with something as simple as verbally communicating your feelings was a never-ending source of amusement for the cyborg. Not that she'd ever tell him that. "Then we are in an exclusive sexual relationship?"

"Yeah." John suddenly found the billboards bracketing the road incredibly interesting, "That sounds about right."

Despite her enjoyment at his flustered state, Cameron was determined that their time together should be a pleasurable experience for both of them. It wasn't often they were able to be alone for extended periods and between their new mission and the looming threat of Judgment Day their opportunities would be extremely limited for quite a while.

Having often observed John and Sarah use humor to dispel the tension between them, Cameron schooled her features into her default 'scary freakin' robot' face. "Good. Then you won't mind if I terminate Corporal Cole upon our return."

John's head shot around like he'd heard a gunshot. "What?! No! Cam, why in the hell would you want to kill Darla?"

"Her advances towards you have become a source of great irritation for me." Cameron smiled sweetly, "If you care for me John, you'll let me remove that irritation."

"I thought we were past this Cam! You can't just kill someone because they..." John trailed off, the light slowly dawning in his eyes causing the cyborg's smile to break out into a full-fledged grin. "You're screwing with me."

"It was effective." Cameron graced him with a smirk, "And quite a bit easier than expected."

The ruse had the desired effect, John fell back into his easy camaraderie with her with a typically male shoulder-bump. "You're getting way too good at that."

"I had a good teacher."

It was John's turn to smirk. "Wow. I am a horrible influence."

"You _have_ been a less than exemplary role-model as of late." Cameron agreed while removing her right hand from the steering wheel and hesitantly sliding her arm behind John's shoulders as she'd seen couples do on the late night television she so enjoyed while not sleeping. Seeing him relax into the gesture she smiled and began running her small fingers over his neck in idle patterns. "You smoke cigarettes. You consume far too much alcohol, while being under the legal age I might add. You swear in the presence of women and your mother."

"Women _and_ my mother." John chuckled softly, "She'd love to know those are two separate categories. You should tell her some time. Just make sure I'm there to see it."

Cameron's smile grew while she continued as if he hadn't spoken. She was enjoying this game.

"You vent your frustrations by verbally assaulting your subordinates." Cameron paused to tilt her head. "Until recently, when you've actually resorted to physically assaulting them."

Leaning back into her shoulder, John shot her a look of mock indignation. "That was a training exercise!"

"I'm not sure Sergeant Reed's face would agree with that assessment." Cameron ran a finger behind his ear, easing the sting of her words and causing him to shiver. She had so wanted for them to enjoy their time together, but this was a rare opportunity for her to bring this up with him in privacy and her files on human psychology indicated her partner's relaxed state would increase the chances of him being receptive and non-combative. "You bottle up your emotions, avoiding confrontation by withdrawing from those who care about you."

John tensed noticeably underneath her, Cameron's sensors registering a dangerous increase in heart-rate most likely caused by a sudden rush of adrenaline. In Derek's always succinct words, her John was pissed.

The cyborg realized she had obviously made a terrible miscalculation and decided to embrace a tactic John himself had taught her - the tactical retreat. Turning her head slightly to let her hair descend over him like a wave, she leaned in and kissed him deeply.

This is what John loved about her. When she smiled and leaned into him, for just a moment he was able to forget about the war. Forget about the mission. Forget about the weapons in the trunk any one of which was enough to land him in Federal prison until his grand-kids had grand-kids. When she kissed him it was just _them_.

Apparently John was comfortable with her not visually observing the road ahead so long as her tongue was in his mouth. Cameron filed that information away for future reference, never knowing when that tidbit might prove crucial.

Pulling back to lock eyes with the now obviously aroused human male beside her, Cameron's grin was wicked. "You consort with the enemy."

"Yeah." John sighed while leaning back against her arm, a goofy smile on his face. "No way am I apologizing for that one."

* * *

Paul's Truck & Go  
Denver Colorado  
Feb 21st, 2011  
1745 hrs

Cameron frowned down at the greasy mess her lover called 'food' like it had just insulted her maternal lineage. Picking up a french fry experimentally, her frown deepened as it sagged to the side like a limp noodle. "I believe I have a new item for the list."

John quirked a brow but didn't bother to pause in his rapid devouring of a mushroom hamburger Cameron deduced contained more than half the young man's daily caloric needs by itself.

"Your nutritional choices remain dubious." Quickly locating the healthiest thing on her plate, Cameron picked at her green-beans with a slightly forced enthusiasm. She liked the taste but failed to understand the human need to put bacon into anything even remotely nutritious.

"Is this going to be an ongoing theme in our relationship Cam?" Wiping his mouth with a smile John stole one of her fries and popped it in his mouth with a defiant gleam in his eyes. "I'm admittedly new to this kind of thing but I think you're supposed to wait until we're married to start making lists of all my faults."

"Thank you for your advice," Cameron's smile bordered on the evil as she leaned over and grabbed one of John's fries before forcing herself to swallow the offensive morsel just to spite him, "But I feel I've known you long enough to compile a satisfactory summary of your faults."

Deciding he was quickly being outclassed in the verbal sparring arena, John settled on a graceful exit. "Well, you need to start developing a few of your own so I can start my own list."

"I could start nagging." Cameron provided helpfully. "That seems to be the preferred method among mated females."

_Oh God. What the hell did I just do? _

"Ummm... Cam. You don't really have to..."

"Your appearance is unsatisfactory John." The cyborg ran an appraising eye over her human. "You shave far too infrequently for my liking."

"Uh huh."

"Your snoring is quite distracting."

"Must be awful." John grinned around a mouthful of burger, "Me interrupting you while you're not sleeping."

"You borrow my weapons without asking."

He was starting to wonder just how far she was going to take this. Sometimes Cameron didn't know when to let up on a joke, leaving more than her fair share of well-tenderized dead horses in her wake. "I thought we had a barter system?"

"You leave clothing and work-related items scattered about your bedroom."

John shrugged, "I know where everything is."

Finally coming up with her trump card, Cameron swiveled on her stool to face him. He was shocked at just how accurate her 'end of my rope housewife' expression was. "You _never_ ask me how my day was."

"I'm..." The young man could feel a cold chill grip his spine. He'd just wandered into some pretty freaky country. "Going to the head."

Cameron was using more than a little bit of her processing power to keep her features schooled as all the blood retreated from John's face and left him white as a sheet. "Make sure you put the seat down when you're finished."

John was three steps from her before he responded in barely contained exasperation, "It's a _men's_ room!"

"It's like training a puppy," Cameron's attention was drawn to the overweight cook standing a few feet down the counter smirking at John's retreating form, "Ya just gotta keep at it."

The man was in his mid-forties and sported a partially bald head and unkempt appearance. His white t-shirt was heavily stained with grease and sweat, a soiled blue bandanna tied across his forehead.

Carl watched John slip into the bathroom before turning to Cameron with a sad smile, "How long's he been back hon?"

Cameron tilted her head slightly feeling apprehension grip her. Had this man recognized John? It had bad many years since he had appeared on any national watch lists, but it was not beyond the realm of possibility. It would be best to remain noncommittal until figuring out what his intentions were. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"I don't mean to pry." The grizzled cook ran a hand across the bar, though from the soiled state of the cloth Cameron doubted it was actually aiding in sanitation. "I was fifteen years in the Navy darlin' and I'd know that look anywhere. Checkin' the exits every thirty seconds like clockwork, refusin' the booth that put his back to the door... the signs were there. He seen a lot of combat?"

The Cyborg frowned. He had made an accurate assessment of John that couldn't be explained away with the truth without compromising their cover. Deciding to stick with the truth, she simply left out the incriminating details. "Yes. John has been a soldier for some time."

"Seems to weigh on him. Kid's a thousand miles away most of the time." The older man smirked, "'Cept when he's lookin' at you that is."

Deciding the man's intentions seemed genuine as well as harmless, Cameron allowed a small smile at the compliment. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it hon." Carl smiled jovially, "You two been together long?"

Cameron could feel the corners of her own lips quirking up involuntarily. She liked the idea that people recognized her connection to John despite a lack of any overt displays of affection. It meant they looked like a real couple. A normal couple.

"No. We just recently decided to pursue a relationship."

Carl nodded, "New love. You hold on to that, it's a precious thing."

Nodding in agreement, Cameron felt a sudden stab of something unexpected. It bothered her that it was very likely this man would not survive Judgment Day when Denver was hit. For the first time the cyborg imagined she was getting a glimpse at the guilt that had so scarred both John and Sarah. There was nothing she could do to save him.

"I will." Her smile was forced, but he didn't seem to notice. "Thank you."

Deciding to withdraw before her still-new emotions could cause her to make an error in judgment, she reached for the scrap of paper the waitress had left on the bar.

"Hey," Carl snatched the greasy receipt from the counter before she could get to it. "This one's on me. We gotta take care of our heroes."

Catching sight of John making his way back from the restroom, Cameron couldn't help but smile. "Yes, we do."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 22nd, 2011  
0215 hrs

"Ouch! Watch the knee! OW!" Derek growled as Sarah half helped/half dragged the larger man across the threshold into the house. "For the love of all that's holy please _stop_ helping me!"

"When did you become such a whiny bitch?!" Slipping the soldier's arm from her shoulders Sarah shoved him back onto the tile floor in the entryway with much less care than should probably be taken with a man who has two bullets lodged in him. "Don't you even think of bleeding on my carpet."

Fingering the quarter-sized hole in the left shoulder of his jacket, Derek winced as he imagined what lay underneath the makeshift bandages. Deciding continuing his argument with Sarah was preferable to dwelling on the monumental fuck up that had led them to this point, he leveled a glare at the woman who was already barking orders into her walky for John's men to set up a perimeter in case they'd been followed. "Don't worry, I'll try to hold in as much as I can."

Sarah's face softened noticeably as she tried to help him out of his battered and now blood-soaked army jacket as gently as possible. "Charley's on his way. I'm... yeah. I should have been paying closer attention."

"Don't even try to start with that shit Connor. We both know there was no way in hell we could have seen that coming." Derek sneered, "They were fucking human!"

Before she could respond the front door was slamming open, Charley barreling through the frame with as much medical equipment as he could carry with Private O'Brien a few steps behind. Sarah had only said that Derek was badly hurt, so he'd brought everything he could get his hands on. Unfortunately he hadn't remembered his boots and had been forced to run the distance between the barn and the house in his socks, which now had chunks of slowly thawing ice and snow stuck all over them. "What have we got?"

Catching sight of the haunted look in Sarah's eyes his hand shot out and shook her by the shoulder. Derek thought he was lucky she didn't rip his throat out on instinct. The guy may be a good medic, but he had a lot to learn about dealing with soldiers. "Sarah! I need you to tell me what's wrong with him!"

"You could always ask me." Derek frowned.

"Shit." Charley turned to face the bloody man in front of him, carefully rolling his shirt up a bit to get his scissors underneath. "I didn't think you'd be conscious."

"This wasn't metal." The soldier sucked in a sharp breath when Charley finished cutting off his t-shirt and rolled him partially onto his side to view the exit wounds on his back. "They were using nine-mils."

"Still, it doesn't look like it tickles." Turning to the woman who was now his assistant by the grace of not being in the room when they took the vote, the medic frowned. "Clear off the dinner table and get me some clean towels."

O'Brien moved with the practiced ease of a seasoned veteran, shoving everything to the floor and helping Derek up onto the flat surface as carefully as possible before heading off in search of towels. Unwrapping the makeshift tourniquet around the man's shoulder, Charley frowned. "If this wasn't _them_, then just who the hell was it?"

"Professionals." Sarah finally broke her silence causing both men to look in her direction. "It was a textbook hit."

"Hey, textbook isn't getting more than half of your men killed." Derek looked inordinately proud of himself, but considering the fact he'd taken two in the chest Sarah was willing to let it slide. As much as she hated to admit it, Derek had done a hell of a job. He wouldn't have even been wounded if he hadn't been trying so hard to protect her... Sarah shut down that line of thinking before it could get started.

"Can you patch him up?" Wiping the blood from her hands on a nearby dish towel the elder Connor was quickly slipping into crisis mode.

Casting an appraising eye over Derek's injuries one last time, Charley nodded. "Yeah. Looks like he was lucky, no organ damage."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Sarah was headed for the door.

"Hey!" Both men shouted in unison, turning to face each other before Derek continued by himself. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get John." Sarah's face was stone. There wasn't going to be a debate.

"Sarah," Derek was trying his best to sound reasonable. "He's got the metal with him and enough weapons to assault Fort Knox. Besides, we don't even know that he was the target!"

Yanking a picture from the wall and exposing a false panel, Sarah didn't hesitate before grabbing her favorite tactical shotgun. Thing was hopeless against terminators, but against humans it was more than adequate. Slipping three boxes of shells and two extra clips for her sidearm into a small duffel she zipped it up and headed for the door, her words drifting back over her shoulder as she bounded down the front steps, "Wake up Derek. John is _always_ the target."

* * *

TBC

Author's Note:

necro-wulf - I'll be honest, time line jockeying is hard work. Causality is a bitch on wheels and best ignored for Terminator purposes. As far as the toddler thing, lets just say that comes from recent personal experience. Anonymous - I appreciate your insight on the AI. I'm trying to make the AI more like it is in reality, which means that in many ways it is superior to humans, just with different limitations. I just hope everyone finds my portrayal believable.

Julian Carax - I'm really happy you picked up on that. I always thought that was a dead-on characterization the show made very clear. A woman who had been locked up for years unable to accomplish anything or protect her son while the clock ticked down beyond her control would naturally become a bit of a control freak who wants to accomplish things personally. Thanks for the review.

As always, thanks to everyone who reads this. Please take a moment to let me know what you like or don't like about the story.


	7. Chapter 7

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 7/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 02/22/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 7 - "Blind-Sided"

Yereven, Armenia  
Feb 23rd, 2011  
1511 hrs (local time)

When she had been but a little girl, Arte remembered well how her superstitious old grandmother had often described an eerie silence as being 'of the dead'. It was not until this moment however that she understood what the old crone had been on about.

The cavernous, overly ornate hall had never felt colder as she slowly approached her father's battered armchair to the left of the fireplace. As always he heard her approach well before she had a chance to announce herself, his gravelly voice like steel. "You walk too slowly to bring me news of success. Get on with it."

Arte stepped back from the chair, as always weary of falling within striking distance of her father while possessed by one of his moods. "The second team has just reported in."

"Ah, the mother and the boyfriend. Did they miss one?" Running his fingers over the selection of rare vintages, he picked one of his finest brandies for this occasion. It was not every day a man was able to avenge his son. "A pity."

"They wounded the boyfriend but the mother remains untouched." Arte's head bowed, "We lost six men. They attacked in a crowded pub, the police have become involved."

Her father was silent for a long moment before bringing his hand crashing down on his desk so hard the tumbler shattered within his grasp. "This is why I tell you we should have sent our own men! We trust trash and we get trash in return! I tell you this since you were little girl."

"Father, they could have been traced back to you..."

"They would not have failed! These mercenaries have no sense of duty, no honor! They cannot even snuff out an insignificant American housewife and her son." Wiping the spilled brandy onto his waistcoat, General Pezevenk Sarkissian rose from his chair with a resigned sigh. "At least we will not have to pay them for such incompetence. You know how I despise rewarding failure."

"It has taken us too long to find our quarry to let it go to ground now. We have exposed ourselves and I have no doubt that they will try to hide... we must not let them disappear again. You will dispatch Dimitri and his team to clean up this disgrace. You will accompany him personally."

Arte could not entirely suppress a shudder at the mention of her father's most efficient enforcer. "But the second team hasn't even made contact with the boy. They may have better luck!"

"They will fail." Swiping a bit of spilled brandy off the cover of the file on top of his desk, Pezevenk flicked it open and removed the full page photograph he had stared at every day for the past two years. It was a simple black and white security cam still of a boy standing beside a striking middle aged woman, her left hand shoving him back towards an attractive young girl while her right unleashed hell from an automatic pistol. Shaking his head at the image he tossed it in front of his daughter.

"Twenty-five years I serve in KGB before the collapse. Twenty-five years I make it my business to know a man's soul just by looking him _here_." Pezevenk drove two fingers towards his eyes, "You know what I see when I look in those eyes?"

Arte shook her head.

"I see death my daughter. The tiger is never fiercer than in defense of her cubs." He ran his single good eye over the photo, scratching his scruffy goatee thoughtfully. "But I believe the real danger lies with the cub himself."

"Father," The young woman quirked a brow, "He is just a boy."

Obviously irritated by her insinuation, Pezevenk snatched up the paper and crammed it back into the file. "A boy who killed your brother. Never forget that Arte."

"Of course father."

Waving a hand in dismissal the weathered old General set off in search of a fresh glass, "You will contact Dimitri. This game ends now."

* * *

*Two hours Earlier*

O'Reilly's Pub  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 22nd, 2011  
0011 hrs

Rubbing the sore spot on the back of his shoulder for the hundredth time since they'd arrived, Derek cast a baleful glance at the woman slouching on the stool beside him. At least her mood had improved since she'd punched him. "You really should try to enjoy yourself Sarah. Probably the last chance you'll get to relax."

"You and John have done more than enough relaxing for all of us." Sarah refused to look at him while she nursed her beer. She also refused to let him know how badly the knuckles on her right hand were killing her. Even after all this time she couldn't understand how the man managed to stay in the shape he was in while living the kind of life he lived.

Shoving his empty to the side Derek grabbed a fresh one from the bucket of ice between them. "Believe me, the kid needed it. He's wound so tight you could bounce a quarter off his..."

"Watch it Reese. That's my son you're talking about." Finally turning in his direction Sarah graced him with a wry smile, "Just because we're co-workers now doesn't mean you get to gripe to me about the boss."

The Resistance fighter seemed to consider it for a moment before returning her smile, "Fair enough. I've gotta admit, you're taking the whole situation a lot better than I would have in your position."

"You keep beating me over the head with your rank and I might just start having a problem with it." One thing Derek loved about Sarah was that you always knew where you stood with her. No games. No bullshit. At the moment it was more than clear she was only half kidding. "But I was expecting something like this. I put John in an impossible situation and he took the only option available to him. How can I blame him for that? How can I blame him for doing what I trained him to do?"

"So..." The teasing look in his eyes told her that Derek was about to bestow one of his always surprisingly deep, if exceedingly rare, insights. "Was this a 'Come to Jesus' or an 'I've Created a Monster'?"

"I'm...," Sarah's grin was evil, "Gonna have to refer you to my no bad-mouthing the boss policy."

"Yeah. He has that effect on people."

She shook her head. "He just needs time to figure things out. To get his head on straight."

"That's the problem Sarah. He has too much time to think." Derek had been debating having this conversation with her for weeks, but John's recent behavior as well as his increasing dependence on the metal was forcing his hand.

"By the time I was sent back that was pretty much all he did. He had completely closed himself off from the rest of humanity, only confiding in his pet metal. He needs to be doing something to get his mind off this shit or it's gonna eat him alive. Kyle used to say that John was always happiest in the field when all he had to focus on were the men directly under his command. That kind of cut and dry, black and white, live or die scenario is something his life is sorely lacking. It's not often Connor gets to make an easy decision."

Sarah couldn't say she disagreed, John had picked up that trait from her. "Alright. But what are we supposed to do about it?"

"That," Derek smirked while tilting his beer at her, "I leave in _your_ capable hands Lieutenant."

Growling slightly, Sarah spun her stool to face him. "I just told you that.."

"Sarah Baum?" A thickly accented voice called out from behind them, causing Derek to slip instantly off his stool and position himself between Sarah and the new arrival. The guy was too small to be metal, too scruffy to be police, but in Pueblo it was Sarah Fairbanks which meant they were in for an interesting night.

Derek frowned at the man, then glanced over his shoulder to Sarah. "Babe? You ever heard of a Sarah Baum?"

Glowering but playing along, Sarah shook her her. "No _hon_. Can't say that I have."

"Well then." The man smiled crookedly, "My mistake."

Both he and Derek drew their sidearms at the exact same moment, but only Derek had been expecting the other man to do so. Swiping the nickle-plated sissy pistol to the ground with his free hand, Derek put two rounds into the attacker's chest with his Glock. Seeing other men rising from tables nearby with obvious intent, the Resistance soldier caught the dead body with his free hand before he had a chance to fall and yanked it flush with his own. It wasn't perfect, but it was cover.

Sarah was already at his side, doing her best to provide covering fire over the heads of the innocent civilians pouring towards the exits. Deciding they probably had the right idea she grabbed Derek by the shoulder and started pulling him back towards the exit. It was right at that moment a figure loomed up from behind a toppled table to her right, leveling an automatic at her skull.

Before she'd had time to do more than wish she'd been paying closer attention, Derek had thrown the now bullet-riddled body he'd been using as cover into the man, following after in a blur of fists and muzzle flashes. She heard both men grunt as they collided with the hardwood floor, only Derek getting back up, though very slowly. He paused for a second, staring at his own chest in shock before looking up to meet her eyes. "Derek!"

"I'm good!" Shoving himself off the floor, Derek half ran/half lurched his way back to her, firing over her shoulder and into the large glass wall pane separating the bar from the street outside. It took the rest of the clip, but just before they reached it the thing finally gave way under the onslaught and crashed to the floor in a shower of sparkling shards. Yanking Sarah through the improvised front door, he shoved her in the direction of her Jeep. "Get it started and pull it up!"

Not bothering to wait to see if his orders were being obeyed, Derek ducked back behind a nearby mail box, slipping a fresh clip into his Glock and wondering idly how well reinforced sheet metal would hold out in a firefight. He didn't have long to wonder as their pursuers reached the front of the building a few seconds later. Apparently having assumed they were fleeing balls-to-the-wall, they hadn't been expecting Derek to try and get the drop on them.

He was only too happy to prove them wrong. He dropped the first two before they'd even cleared the windowsill, all but one of the others immediately diving back for cover. The only holdout was a massive tattoo-covered son of a bitch with a bald head and the ugliest goatee Derek had ever had the misfortune of encountering. Hearing Sarah's Jeep screech to a halt behind him, he emptied the rest of his clip at Bizzaro Mr. Clean, frowning when despite three clear impacts to center mass the guy was still standing. _Shit. Maybe one of them _was_ a terminator. _

Time seemed to stand still while the mercenary slowly brought the muzzle of his Uzi around to face him. Just as his life was finishing up flashing before his eyes, a shotgun clapped directly behind his head and the attacker's chest erupted in a sickening pink mist as he plummeted backwards onto the pavement. _Nope. Definitely human_.

Tossing a grateful smile to the woman still covering the front window from over the top of her Jeep, Derek ducked into the passenger side as carefully as possible. A few seconds later they were screaming down main street at a hundred and ten miles an hour with the freezing wind pouring in through the cracked windshield.

Sarah slammed her hand repeatedly into the steering wheel in a vain effort to release some of the tension she'd just built up. Hearing a groan from beside her, her head pivoted like an eagle stalking prey. "Shit. You're hit."

Derek grunted while clamping a palm down over the left side of his chest. "Yeah. Little bit."

"Can you make it back to the house?"

"Not like I have much choice." Fishing a sweater out of the back of the Jeep with his good arm, Derek jammed it between his jacket and his chest, the world whiting out around the edges as the pain shot through him. "But I'd hurry if I was you."

Sarah nodded grimly, her foot dropping the gas pedal to the floor.

* * *

Room 312, Ramada Inn  
Denver Colorado  
Feb 22nd, 2011  
0315 hrs

Cameron let her head fall backwards onto the stiff hotel pillow, her hair fanning out beneath her in complete disarray. She suddenly found it very odd that she didn't care about the mess. Cameron prided herself on being impeccable about her appearance, with the exception of the occasional bullet hole. John calls those an 'occupational hazard'.

Speaking of John. Her human companion's face had gone from an expression of rather smug satisfaction to steadily increasing worry in it's prominent position hovering directly above her own. "Cam? You still with me?"

"Yes John." Feeling a satisfied smile of her own spread across her features, Cameron ran her hand lazily up her lover's spine earning an appreciative groan. "I believe I prefer this positioning. It seems to offer the maximum surface area for mutual stim..."

She was forced to trail off as John's lips met hers. This was by far her favorite form of interruption. When he finally pulled back his eyes were twitching in amusement. "It probably had something to do with you not blacking out during the best part this time."

Cameron tilted her head to the side, her hair spilling off the side of the pillow in a chestnut torrent. "That's a valid theory."

Before he could respond she pulled him back down on top of her, lips and tongue attacking the base of his neck with the same single-minded determination she exhibited in every endeavor connected to John. Her lips curled into an unconscious smile as he shuddered above her, the action causing his hips to grind against hers deliciously where they still remained most intimately connected. "One that requires further testing."

John chuckled against her shoulder before pulling back, his smile fading a bit at the deadly serious look on her face. He may be new at this but two hours of rather vigorous... _exercise_ had seemed like a pretty noteworthy accomplishment. John wasn't exactly in poor physical condition and he already felt like he'd gone 15 rounds with Mike Tyson. _Wow. Who knew an ego could deflate that quickly? Lucky I didn't get whiplash._

"Um... Cam."

"I can be on top this time." She assured him, giving him the same look that had shattered his resolve their first night together. "Please John?"

"I... uuuhhh." John sighed, "I need to..."

_Rest? Sleep? Fall into a coma? Die now because this is probably as good as it's gonna get?_

Then he found himself looking down at her sprawled out beneath him, completely bare, skin still flushed from their most recent round of lovemaking. It occurred to him that it should probably be illegal to look that good. _Damn it. _"I need to get some water if I'm gonna be any use to you."

Nodding enthusiastically, Cameron pulled him in for a long kiss. She only let up when John's need for fresh oxygen demanded it."Of course. Hydration is important."

Finally disentangling themselves from each other, John draped the covers over Cameron before gathering up his clothes. The action was completely unnecessary as she lacked both modesty and the need for exterior temperature regulation, but Cameron found she appreciated the gesture all the more because he didn't have to. It probably shouldn't surprise her at this point, John had been treating her as more than a machine for a very long time. It's what she loved about him.

Cameron's lips quirked up at the thought. She sincerely believed the feelings she possessed for the young human were love, or at least the closest machine equivalent she was capable of. Telling him that was another matter entirely. It hadn't turned out very well the last time.

Running an appreciative eye over the focus of her thoughts as he abandoned the thus far fruitless search for his boxers and slid his jeans on without them, she could feel her ambient skin temperature rising again already. Following the garment up until he buttoned them around his waist Cameron's eyes widened in shock. "John?!"

Hand twitching for his pistol at the alarm in her voice, John glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"Your...," Sitting up in bed, Cameron slid down to the edge in order to run a shaky hand over the dark purple splotch along his hip then along another marring his shoulder. He couldn't remember ever seeing her this distraught. "I damaged you!"

There was an awkward moment where John actually began laughing causing the cyborg to immediately start searching his eyes for signs of a concussion. Flashing an amused smile he batted her hands away from his head. "Cam! I'm fine. I just... well you looked so freaked! Don't scare me like that. I thought it was something serious."

"It _is_ serious John." She glared at him incredulously, "I injured you."

"What it was, was an accident." Apparently for John this was the end of the discussion. He rose from the bed and pulled on his t-shirt, Cameron cringed at the stiff way he was moving about the room. She had been so sure that she'd managed to reign in her strength, apparently her control had lapsed. This was unacceptable.

She was just about to explain this concept to John when his cellphone began jumping around on the table beside the bed.

John padded back over to the bed, leaning in to drop a kiss on Cameron's temple before grabbing the annoying piece of plastic, rolling his eyes at the caller ID and flipping it open. "Future savior of mankind speaking."

"Whoa whoa! Slow down." The voice on the other end was yelling so loudly Cameron was easily able to identify the caller as Sarah Connor. "Jesus. Right in the middle of the bar? Is he alright?"

"No. I had the thing on vibrate, I must not have heard it. Well, I was sleeping! You know? What normal people do at night?" Slipping his boots on with an exaggerated roll of his eyes for Cameron's benefit, John grabbed the plastic ice bucket from the bathroom counter top. "No one is trying to kill me mom. Not unless they've sent a T-1000 back to imitate the ice-maker."

Sarah's was now screaming so loudly the younger Connor had to hold the phone back from his head, "And?! Are you sure he didn't just piss off the wrong person? Derek does have that effect on people."

"What? No you don't need to come up here! I don't care if you're only twenty minutes away. Turn around." Pausing just in front of the door John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I am taking this seriously. You're overreacting!"

Clamping a hand down over the receiver he glanced over his shoulder to Cameron who was now almost fully dressed herself. Sometimes it amazed him how much the cyborg reminded him of his mother. A few bullets start flying and suddenly it's the end of the world. "Hey. I'm grabbing some ice from the machine, you need anything?"

"No. Thank you John." Pulling her shirt down over her head she paused to shake out her hair. "Will we be leaving?"

Opening the door and stepping part way out onto the second floor walkway he shook his head. "We'll stick to the plan. I really don't think they're dumb enough to..."

Less than six inches to the right of John's head the door frame erupted in a shower of splinters and shattered plaster, spraying the side of his face with shrapnel and sending him careening backwards into the room as round after round of fire poured through the quickly shredding door. "Fuck!"

He'd barely made it back into the room before he was airborne, Cameron's hand latched firmly onto the collar of his shirt as she yanked him behind her and ran a calm eye over his body in search of obvious signs of injury. With the exception of a collection of nasty scratches along the side of his face, he appeared undamaged. "Were you wounded?"

"I'm fine!" Pulling himself free of her grasp he went to retrieve his cellphone only to find it in multiple pieces scattered around the floor. Well, at least he knew Sarah would assume the worst and get here ASAP. "How many?"

Tilting her head, Cameron stepped right in front of the window, which erupted less than a second later in a shower of automatic weapons fire. "Six."

"Get down!" John growled, "Next time how about just glancing around the corner?"

"That was unnecessary. I am not detecting any weapons capable of damaging my combat chas..."

"Turn the light off!" John hissed. He didn't have time to deal with Cameron's lack of a self-preservation instinct at the moment. Keeping underneath the windows, John slid across the wall until he was beside the large Army duffel containing his clothes and personal weapons. Years of practice and his mother's mantras meant it only took him a second to locate and retrieve his prized M4. Slipping the weapon from it's customary home he quickly checked the breach just as his order was obeyed and the room was plunged into darkness.

Cameron padded back over to his side, ducking slightly but obviously far less concerned about being wounded by the relatively harmless gunfire still smashing into the room sporadically. The cyborg was pleased to note John was drawing deep breaths through both his nose and mouth in an obvious attempt to heavily oxygenate his blood, thus avoiding the dreaded and adrenaline fueled 'tunnel-vision' veteran soldiers feared. This action would greatly increased his chances of survival and was easy for her to understand. What she couldn't understand was why he had his right arm fully extended in front of his face and was staring intently at his palm.

Though a cursory inspection assured her that there was no visual damage to his digits, he may have broken his wrist dodging the earlier gunfire. "Has your hand sustained damage?"

"Not all of us have thermal sensors Cam."John's grin was incongruous considering the potential danger he faced. "If this is gonna work I'm gonna need a minute for my eyes to adjust."

As was nearly always the case, John's actions were based on sound tactical decisions. She had never doubted him. "What's the plan?"

The grin vanished as he ran the hand he'd been staring at slowly down the side of her face. He didn't really care for the idea. Cameron on the other hand would love it, which bothered him almost more than the plan itself. Unfortunately for both of them John didn't have anything better under the circumstances. "We've got maybe five minutes before Homeland Security and Denver PD is crawling all over this place. Grab the stuff, make a dash for the car. While you're drawing their fire I'll open up from up here and neutralize as many as I can."

Cameron nodded once before gathering up their duffels and swinging both over one shoulder, her SPAS-12 locked and loaded. John couldn't help but smile as he leaned in to kiss her. "Remember, it's not against the rules to duck. Okay?"

"Okay John." Bracing her back against the wall beside the door she waited for his signal as John crawled along the floor to position himself near the window. After swiping a few shards of shattered glass off his palms he raised himself up onto a knee, his free hand shooting out in a partially closed fist, three fingers extended.

The first curled inward and Cameron flipped the safety off her shotgun. Luckily she had been packing slugs for potential terminator encounters since Wilson's arrival, buckshot would never have reached the enemy's positions from this distance.

The second finger curled down and she heard John deactivate his own safetly. She was out the door before the third finger had completely disappeared. Her CPU had calculated the positions of their attackers based on their earlier gunfire, it was a simple matter to target the nearest one and fire off a round even before the others had been alerted to her presence. The slug tore through the car door the man had been using as cover like tissue paper, slamming into his torso and sending him reeling backwards onto the pavement.

"Five." Cameron called over her shoulder in an almost disinterested tone as she racked another round into the chamber. Recovering from their momentary shock at seeing a hundred and twenty pound girl storming down the stairs with a hundred and fifty pounds of gear on her back and a tactical shotgun spraying death at them, the mercenaries unloaded full throttle.

John winced at the unmistakable sound of rounds ricocheting off Cameron's endoskeleton, hoping she was at least partially heeding his advice. Figuring the most effective way to help her would be to reduce the number of assholes firing at her, John rose from cover and let his sights drift methodically across the parking lot below.

_No thinking. No feeling. Identify the target and eliminate. _His mother's words were playing on an automatic loop through his mind, the only accompanying sound the thudding of his heart in his ears which was now easily drowning out the cacophony of gunfire.

A head poked up from behind a blue Dodge Stratus fifty meters distant, John's barrel lined up instantaneously.

_Breathe. Breathe. _The figure rose a fraction higher, his now reloaded Kalashnikov swinging up above the hood. _Squeeze_.

The figure dropped. _Four_.

John could feel a shudder rip through him that had nothing to do with the kick of his M4, his breath now coming in shallow gasps. The mantra never ceasing. _No thinking. No feeling. Identify the target and eliminate. _

Cameron had just reached the foot of the stairs and was slowly advancing on Derek's battered Dodge, occasionally firing off a round when the opportunity presented itself while doing her best to concede to John's wishes. It did not personally effect her if she was damaged, but he seemed to place a great deal of emphasis on the matter. Her HUD fired off a warning as one of their attackers rounded the back of a nearby SUV, his MP5 spraying her frame with 9mm rounds.

His face contorted in a mixture of fear and agony when she shrugged off the attack, stepping forward to grab the side of his head, slamming it through the driver's side window. Though severely injured, he was still a potential threat to John. She neutralized the threat by breaking his neck.

Just as she was tossing the bags into the back of the truck, turning around to finish the rest of their attackers off so they could depart unmolested, a red pickup tore into the parking lot. Two men in the back opened up on her nearly instantaneously while screaming to each other in Russian, high caliber automatic fire knocking her back into the side of Derek's Dodge. The moment the vehicle came to a stop two more men dove out of the cab, using their respective doors for cover while they alternated fire between Cameron and where John was still raining down cover fire from the second floor.

John had just pulled back from his firing position to reload when a 7.62 round splintered the drywall at his back and blasted it's way straight through his left forearm. Falling forward onto his good hand, John's M4 went crashing onto the rubble strewn floor as he desperately clutched at the gushing wound. "_Fuck_!"

In a move that would have sent his mother into convulsive fits he shoved aside the pain long enough to glance up over the windowsill, just in time to see Cameron knocked back off her feet as she again tried to right herself under the constant stream of lead. Apparently deciding that the unkillable girl who'd just wasted three of their men was the primary threat, the others were closing in around her while the backup they'd called in the truck kept her physically pinned with machine gun fire.

Under most circumstances focusing on the terminator would have been a sound tactical decision. Tonight though, it was a big fucking mistake. Tearing a chunk off the bed sheets with his good hand, John quickly and efficiently wrapped it around the seeping wound in his forearm, pulling it taught with his teeth. He knew when the adrenaline wore off the thing would be less than useless, so he had to move fast.

"You want a war..." Flipping the mattress off the bed he shoved it up against the wall below the windows and hunched down behind it. It wasn't much, but at least it would catch a chunk of the shrapnel that was about to come his way. Saying a last little prayer that the blast didn't disable Cameron in the process, John loaded the single M203 grenade he had into the launcher tucked beneath the barrel of his M4. "You got one."

Popping up from behind his makeshift cover, the only warning their attackers had was the soft 'ka-thunk' of the grenade clearing the launch tube before it slammed directly into the engine block of the truck. Flames erupted from the cabin as the force of the blast flipped the vehicle up and backwards, tires flying off in all directions as every car alarm within a three block radius decided the world was ending.

John was out the door and on his way down the stairs even before the truck had landed, a good chunk of the building itself now in flames as the few surviving mercs scrambled to find cover behind anything that didn't look like it was about to explode.

He wasn't sure if it was the anger, the shock, or the blood loss, but John could feel an unnatural calm descend upon him as he strolled calmly across the flaming wreckage of what was once a non-descript hotel parking lot. Stepping over the still smoldering corpse of one of the men from the truck, he used the ensuing chaos to his advantage, squeezing off two quick bursts that dropped three of the fleeing mercenaries from behind while they were still firing at his previous position upstairs.

Standing in the middle of the rubble, John was disappointed to feel his rifle clicking impotently and stopped long enough to retrieve a fresh clip from his back pocket, ignoring the way his blood-slicked fingers slipped and slid as he tried to manipulate the mechanism. It was a good thing he'd bothered to, as yet another vehicle, this time a Jeep, smashed through the flaming remains of the destroyed truck and barreled directly for him. Without pause, without emotion, John aimed for a spot directly above the steering wheel and prepared to fire.

The millisecond before he depressed the trigger the barrel of his weapon was shoved down, Cameron jerking his face to the side with her other hand to gain his attention. She'd been screaming his name for the last two minutes but he didn't seem to hear her. "John! It's Sarah. We have to leave!"

Shaking his head as if he'd just woken up, John frowned. "Cam?"

Leaping out of her Jeep and surveying the carnage around them Sarah's eyes flared as she caught sight of her son. "What the hell's wrong with him?!"

"Nothing." Cameron practically dragged the young man around the side of the Jeep, jerking open the door and shoving him inside. "Get him home. I'll retrieve the truck."

Still not accustomed to taking orders from Cameron of all people, Sarah nodded curtly before jumping back into the driver's seat. Already hearing sirens in the distance she slammed the vehicle into reverse and rammed right back through the flaming wreckage blocking the entrance. Jumping a divider and narrowly avoiding a head-on collision she slipped onto the highway on-ramp just as the first responders were passing in the opposite direction.

After a few minutes of tense silence, once she was sure they weren't being followed, Sarah allowed herself to run a critical eye over John for the first time. His left arm was a mess, what looked like a bloody bed sheet tied around an angry wound, his face ashen either from shock or blood loss. She didn't miss the way he was clutching the rifle in his hands like it was the only link between life and death. But he was alive. That's what mattered.

He jumped half a foot when her hand settled on the back of his neck, causing her to smile reassuringly. He didn't need a lecture right now. He needed his mother. "Bad day kiddo?"

His head crashed forward like a switch had been flipped, his shoulders shuddering and his hands shaking as he released a ragged breath she hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yeah... you could say that."

"It's alright." Nodding slowly, she rubbed up and down the back of his neck in slow soothing motions. "It's over now."

* * *

T.B.C.

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, you have no idea how much it means to me to hear your opinions on the story. If I tried to respond to everyone this would be as long as the chapter, so please don't get offended if you get left out. If you have any questions I haven't answered just PM me. Thanks again and please let me know what you think.

bigbew - I like writing this John a lot but I admit it's difficult. This isn't John we've seen in either the TV show or the movies, which means I have to fill in a lot of gaps myself. I just hope I'm doing a decent job of it.

necro-wulf - It doesn't really take evil insight to realize she could nag him to death, just an ex-wife. Did I say that? Bad me.

NordWest - Thanks for the detailed review. I do intend to expand on John's team quite a bit, I agree that they offer an interesting facet to the story that I don't want to ignore or gloss over. As far as John/Cameron I suppose I saw things developing a little differently. Like John admitted to Derek he had thought about being with Cameron for a long time, but never acted on it because he felt like he would be taking advantage of her. It was only when she actually came to him that he finally cleared that hurdle.

bryan0711 - Your review really made my day man, even encouraged me to crank out this next update a little faster. So thanks for that. I love long, well thought-out feedback. I figured there might be a few Cole fans in the crowd and I don't think you'll be disappointed. There will be a lot more interaction between her and John in the future, I just want to make sure she's more than just a foil for Cameron down the road but a fully fleshed out character that the reader cares about.


	8. Chapter 8

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 8/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 02/26/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: A lot of this story to this point has been introspective and kind of dark. I decided to try to lighten things up a bit this chapter and see if I could make the narrative more dialogue driven. Let me know what you think.

Chapter 8 - "Fire and Forget"

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 22nd, 2011  
0545 hrs

"You know John," Charley could only shake his head as he finished wrapping up his almost step-son's forearm. "You're probably the only person on Earth who can manage to get hurt with two scary robots and a small army looking out for you."

"I don't pay you for social commentary Dixon." John frowned down at the man, moving the fingers of his injured arm experimentally. The numbness caused by the local he'd been administered didn't make the action any easier.

"You don't pay me at all Johnny." Helping the young man curl his hand into a fist, Charley nodded. "Good. Looks like the tendons are still in one piece. More or less anyways. I pulled some debris from the wound, looked like it was mostly drywall and a piece of your shirt. I went ahead and hit you with a broad spectrum antibiotic to be on the safe side but we'll need to keep an eye out for infection."

Flattening John's palm back out the medic grabbed the needle he'd just used to stitch him up and poked it lightly into the pad of his thumb. "Feel that?"

"Yeah." Connor nodded impatiently when required as Charley moved from finger to finger checking for nerve damage.

"You have any idea how lucky you are Johnny?" The older man shook his head. "You could have easily lost the use of your fingers. What good are you gonna be to anyone without your left hand?"

"Meh," John had missed Charley's mother hen tendencies. "I'm sure Cameron could whip me up some kind of Luke Skywalker prosthetic. Being part machine would probably add a bit to my mystique don't you think?"

"I think we've got enough machines around here already." Charley smiled easily, "Make sure you change that dressing at least once a day and stick to baths if you can help it. If you have to take a shower use one of those massive freezer bags Sarah has in the cupboard to keep your arm dry."

"Got it." Painkillers finally starting to kick in, John settled back into Derek's battered leather recliner with a groan.

Leaning forward with a sigh Charley swatted him lightly upside the head. "Hey! Pay attention. You keep the wound clean and most importantly dry or you could still lose this arm. Understand me?"

"I said I got it." John smirked, "Thanks Charley."

Gathering up his supplies the older man nodded with a tired smile, "You want to thank me? Stop ending up on my table."

"How's Derek?"

"He's gonna live." Charley just shook his head, "At this point I'm convinced the guy's unkillable."

"That's not what I meant." John sighed. Charley was not going to like this side of him, but it was about time for them to be properly introduced. "Is he combat effective?"

The medic stared at him for a long moment before shoving the last of his supplies into his bag with a little more force than necessary. "No, _sir_. The shoulder wound was high enough to avoid damaging the joint but it took a pretty good sized chunk of his trapezius with it on the way out. It's likely he's got nerve damage but we won't be able to tell until he's conscious. His chest wound was a clean in-and-out job, but he lost a lot of blood."

Nodding, John tossed a thumb towards the barn. "O'Brien and Carmack are both matches. Mom decided it was important to find out who in the group could donate blood in case I needed it."

"Smart woman." Zipping his bag up and tossing it over his shoulder Charley gave a tired wave of greeting to Corporal Cole as she made her way into the living room with a plate of food and a bottled water. "You came pretty close to needing it tonight Johnny."

Turning to the Corporal, Charley lowered his voice. "I just hit him up with some pretty serious painkillers. Make sure he gets some fluids in him before he crashes."

"You got it boss." Slapping the older man on the shoulder on his way out of the room Darla deposited the sandwiches on the end table beside John's recliner. "How's the arm?"

"Still has a hole in it." Reclining in the chair John let his head fall back against the rest in an effort to stop it from wobbling back and forth on a suddenly rubbery neck. He didn't know what Charley had given him but it kicked like Chuck Norris. The sandwiches were just sloppy enough to let him know his mother had made them, and most likely sent Darla to keep an unobtrusive eye on him until Cameron returned.

Sarah had been avoiding him since they'd got back to the house, probably beating herself up over the attacks. Sometimes he really couldn't understand his mother. Did she expect herself to be prescient? You could prepare until the end of time and you still couldn't hope to plan for every possible contingency. The trick was being quick enough on your feet to respond to the threats you couldn't anticipate.

They'd survived and sent a good portion of the other guys to meet their maker. What more could she ask for?

Rubbing his eyes with a tired sigh, John forced a smile. "You really don't have to stay with me. I'm fine. I swear."

Cole rolled her eyes before grabbing a chair from the dinner table and flipping it around backwards so she could straddle it, forearms folded across the back with her chin perched on top. "That would be breaking the first rule of dealing with Connor, sir."

John chuckled, pleasantly surprised that the action no longer sent pain rocketing straight up through his arm. Though that thought did send a pang of guilt straight to his gut. He had no business complaining while Derek was still unconscious in his room after taking two in the chest for his mother. For _him_. Not really wanting to focus on that at the moment though, John forced a drowsy smile. "There are rules?"

"Oh yeah, sir. Whole bunch of 'em."

"Enlighten me." Sliding his undamaged arm behind his neck John adjusted a bit until finding a comfortable position. "And please drop the 'sir' shit. I'm six years younger than you."

There was a long pause while the young man stopped to do mental math the drugs coursing through his veins were making exceedingly difficult. "Well, I'm technically two years older but... forget it. Just stop calling me sir. At least when we're alone. Alright?"

Darla nodded side to side, trying to control a smirk at her CO's ramblings. "Alright. So, you wanna know the rules?"

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah. I wanna know the rules."

"Too bad." Her Cheshire cat grin was infuriating. He had a feeling she knew that. "One of the rules is that you can't tell Connor the rules."

Despite himself, John found himself smiling back. "Isn't that convenient? Well, you just told me one right there. Now I figure you at least owe me the other one you mentioned. What's the first rule of dealing with Connor?"

Glancing around the room like she was about to let slip nuclear launch codes, Darla nibbled at her bottom lip. Connor was mercurial at best and she was afraid that in his current state he might not find the same humor in the rules that she did. "Okay. But just the first one. And you didn't hear this from me."

"Hear it from who?" She wasn't the only one who could be a smart-ass.

Sliding her chair along the floor to manuever it closer to his side, Darla uncapped the bottle of water and set it on the end table beside John's food. Painkillers and cotton mouth usually went hand in hand and as a faithful Connor disciple, she was always prepared. "You only worry about Connor when he says he's fine."

John quirked a brow. Frankly, he'd been expecting something a bit more profound. It didn't help that she kept referring to him in the third person. "Huh?"

"It was like this game with you." Cole smiled broadly, obviously calling up some memory or another. "It was about four years before I was sent back. When I first arrived in the bunker it was in a group of reinforcements, most of us were fresh out of training and rushed to the front to plug the gaps caused by Skynet's latest offensive. You guys had been under siege for more than three months under near constant assault and bombardment. Command had sent rescue missions half a dozen times to get you the hell out of there. You said the position was vital to holding onto the sector, refused to leave because you knew the second you did they would order a full withdraw and the machines would just roll right on through."

Darla shook her head, doing her best to look chastising. "Every time you loaded up the extraction vehicles with wounded and sent them on their way. Finally, they decided if you weren't leaving then Tech-Com would come to you. Unfortunately by that point they'd managed a complete encirclement and we had to run the gauntlet to get to you."

The Corporal was pleased to note that John seemed to be relaxing, his eyes falling closed as he took in her story. She hadn't really been anticipating a receptive audience, as Connor tended to get cranky when laid up, so it was a pleasant surprise. "I had just been attached to Reed's squad two weeks earlier and here I am on the fucking spear-tip of the largest Tech-Com operation since San Fransisco. It was run and gun the whole way in. The bombing had collapsed most of the perimeter tunnels which apparently hadn't been built deep enough. So some dumbass engineer's FUBAR meant we had to sprint across open ground until we were almost right on top of you."

"It's where I got this." Undoing the top three buttons of her shirt, Darla slid the left placate down over her shoulder. John had seen her in a tank-top before, but had admittedly been glancing other places than her shoulder, so the waxy scar starting at her collarbone before twisting back up and over to her shoulder blade was a bit of a surprise. At some points it almost disappeard, only to bulge out into semi-circular patterns resembling a slim string of pearls.

John frowned pointedly. The last thing he'd needed at the moment was a reminder of one more person hurt because of his stupidity. "I've never seen a wound like that before. What the hell did it?"

Shifting her bra strap a bit to run her fingers over the raised scar tissue she sighed, "A fucking brick wall."

"Wow. It's a bad day when Skynet manages to co-opt our own walls against us." John's easy humor seemed to bring the young woman back to the world, actually getting her to crack a smile when he rapped his knuckles a few times against the wall beside him. "I never did trust you, you roof-supporting bastards."

"Yeah, well it wasn't entirely the wall's fault. You don't really have to worry about a plasma blast hitting you. I mean, you worry about it, but if it hits you then the game's over so there's really no point in dwelling on it." Pulling her shirt back over her shoulder and rebuttoning her top, Darla frowned. "What they don't tell you is what it does to regular matter. HK fired off a salvo into a collapsed building beside us, the plasma blast was a good fifteen meters above me. All of a sudden I feel this drip, drip, drip on my shoulder. Then, before I could figure out when in the hell it had started raining the pain gave me my answer."

Offering up the most forced smile John had seen outside his mother, she continued. "Hey. They say I'm lucky. Any closer and it probably would've burned straight through."

Picking up the water bottle she'd left beside him earlier, John drained half before handing it off. Darla accepted with a grateful smile finishing it in a few long gulps. "Obviously you made it."

"Hell yeah we did. We're Tech-Com." Repositioning herself on the chair she reached into her pocket to retrieve her cigarettes. Flipping the pack open and tossing one onto John's lap with a knowing smile. "I know they're your brand. Well, they _were_... are going to be? That gets confusing."

"You're telling me." John could only smile when she leaned in to light it for him, "I keep meaning to quit. Cameron's even started nagging me about it. Frankly I'm surprised we even have 'em in the future."

Darla snorted, "Don't get too excited. They're mostly old newspaper, crushed leaves, with about ten percent of what's left being twenty year old tobacco. Lets just say while the word 'metal' is easily the most hated in the future, 'ersatz' is gonna come in at a not very distant second."

Pausing to light her own, Darla took a long drag before continuing her story. "Only eight of us made it through the lines that first night. Me and Reed were the only ones from our squad who survived the HK attack. So there I am getting patched up when I see this figure making his way through the tunnels. You always were easy to spot John, people parting for you like Moses at the Red Sea. I still remember exactly how it happened. You walked straight up to me, ran a quick eye over my back and got this funny little smile on your face."

Shaking her head, Darla did her best to imitate his future self's raspy baritone. " 'I hear you busted through their lines?' "

"Now I had never even seen you in person, let alone _talked_ to you. You probably thought I was slow or had a concussion or something the way I kept nodding at you like an idiot. I was expecting a pep talk or maybe a debrief knowing that any second you were gonna skewer me to the wall with that stare of yours and I was gonna wet my Huggies."

"Jesus." John couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You make me sound like Attila the Hun."

"Oh God no." Smirking up from under her bangs, Cole skewered him with a look of her own. "That stare? _Very_ sexy."

"Yeah, I bet you dug the scars too." He chuckled softly but at her continued silence narrowed his eyes at her, "That's just... that's just morbid Cole."

Darla just shrugged, "I speak the truth. You could have had any woman in camp Connor."

They were treading on ground John would rather avoid, "So did I skewer your ass?"

"Nope." It was Darla's turn to chuckle, "You just said 'You keep that head on a swivel, Private. Welcome to the war.' "

"And you remembered that? Not exactly Churchillian."

"You know," The Corporal narrowed her eyes at him in exasperation, "You're really bad at letting a girl finish her story. I haven't even gotten to the part where this all ties into The Rules."

"A thousand pardons Cole." John snuffed out his cigarette and reclined back into the chair. "Continue."

"So over the next couple weeks you would stick your head into the infirmary on the way to your morning briefings and ask us how we were doing. We got into this funny little routine where you would ask me how I was feeling that day and I would complain about the pain or the cold or the food." Quirking her head to the side Darla laughed, "You would always tell us that no matter how bad we had it, we had no idea how lucky we were that we weren't you. Your knees were going, your back was bad, you had bullets lodged in you that you didn't even know about. You absolutely refused to let us feel bad for ourselves."

"It was exactly what we needed." She glanced away long enough to swipe a hand over the side of her face. John was smart enough to make sure he didn't notice. "That's your gift John. You recognize what needs to happen and you figure out a way to make it reality."

Not being completely unobservant herself, Cole powered forward to limit the embarrassment to both of them. "But about three weeks after I arrived you walked into the barracks and asked me how I was doing. I complained about all the usual stuff: the bunk they'd given me was lumpy, I still hadn't gotten all the feeling back in my fingers the way they'd promised, and so on. You just stood there, silent as a statue, until I finally broke down and asked you how you were doing. Fifteen, maybe twenty seconds you just stared at this spot above my head before you even noticed me."

"Then, no complaining, no joking, no feeling of any kind - this Ghost looks me right in the eyes and says 'fine.' " Darla shook her head, "The next morning you issued the orders... we were running out of supplies and had no choice but to break out from the pocket. So we break out, link up with the Third, just in time to run head on into two divisions of Skynet reinforcements sent to crack the bunker. We held the door open for thirty-two hours while they evaced everyone. The Battle of Roland Creek. Some of the hardest fighting I've ever seen. After that we always knew."

"Only worry about Connor when he says he's fine." John finished for her. Sighing, he decided that it would probably be best for both of them if he never asked her about the rules again. "Tell me one thing Darla."

"Anything."

John's eyes fell closed, his uninjured hand digging into the armrest. "Tell me it was worth it."

Reaching out to cover his shaking hand with her own, Darla ran her thumb across his scarred knuckles. "You'd seen the build-up coming John. No one else did. If we'd given up that position months earlier... if we hadn't slowed up their offensive as long as we did then Skynet would have blitzed so far into our rear areas we might never have regained the momentum. You made sure we held until the last possible moment so Command could rally it's defenses behind the lines, then you lead us the hell out of there personally. I don't see what more we could have ask from yourself."

Squeezing her hand once before running his fingers through his hair in agitation John tried to recover from his detour into General Connor's territory. As much as he wanted to believe differently it was moments like this that proved to John he still wasn't completely prepared for what was coming. He wasn't convinced he could have made the same decision. "Well, I wouldn't want to break tradition. So you feel free to complain if it makes you feel better Cole."

Darla smiled up at him. "I've got the feeling back in my fingers now, but I still hate the cold."

"I'm from Fresno John." Just glancing out the window at the snow caused her to shiver, "After four hours on patrol I'm not even sure I've still got feet."

"Yeah." John nodded in agreement. "I used to have a lot of trouble with the cold too. It's rough if you're not born to it. What size boots are you wearing?"

Darla hesitated for a second, apparently a little embarrassed. "Ten."

"Okay." Running a hand through his hair he cast an eye down to her feet, "And what size are your feet?"

The Corporal quirked an eyebrow at the young man, starting to wonder if Charley had dosed him too heavily. "Ummm... ten?"

"Well that's your problem." John concluded as if it explained everything. He only continued when it was abundantly clear she thought he'd lost his mind. "Old Russian secret Cole. In the winter you wear your boots a couple sizes too big so you've got room for insulation. You can use extra socks, scarves, even straw if you're desperate. Creates a cushion of warm air and it helps keep moisture off the feet preventing frostbite."

"Sound advice. It would be unfortunate if we had to amputate your feet Corporal." Cameron leveled her trademark vacant look at the woman, made all the more menacing by her silent arrival and the still untended battle damage marring her features. "You can leave now."

"Oh. Okay?" Darla cast an odd look between the pair before turning back to John. "If you need anyth.."

"Then _I _will get it for him." The Cyborg dropped to a knee beside John's chair, gently lifting his arm to examine the bandages covering his wound. "I'm sorry it took me so long John. I had to make sure no one hadn't followed me. And then I had to dump the body."

"Don't worry about it Cam. I'm fin..." John cast a glance at Cole, smirking. "I'm alright."

Cameron quirked a brow at the silent exchange but was interrupted by John before she could question him. "Wait. Dump _what_ body? Cam, we had a discussion about killing cops."

"No members of the Denver Police Department were harmed. I followed your rules of engagement to the letter." The cyborg actually seemed a little offended by his insinuation. "On my way back to the truck I encountered one of the attackers incapacitated in the blast. He was severely injured but capable of basic verbal communication. It seemed an opportune time to gather intelligence about our new enemy."

Darla practically growled, "Yeah. TOKs _never_ like to pass up an opportunity to 'gather intelligence'. They enjoy it too much."

"They tried to kill John." Cameron turned to face the woman, her eyes steel. "Should I have sent them a gift basket?"

Cole refused to be cowed by the cyborg, running a disdainful eye over the gleaming coltan cheekbone clearly visible on the left side of Cameron's face. "Maybe you should have done a better job protecting him in the first place. Connor's never been wounded on _our_ watch metal."

Cameron backed up as if she'd been struck, blinking rapidly. The woman had voiced the same thoughts that had been tearing through her CPU since the first shots were fired the night before. John had almost been killed. It had been a stroke of 'dumb luck', as he called it, that the sniper had been too impatient to wait for a clear shot. Had it been a terminator in that parking lot, her John would be dead and her reason for existence along with him. All because she'd allowed herself to become distracted.

Cole had obviously wasted little time moving in to provide John comfort in her absence. Comfort he seemed more than willing to accept at face value, just as he had with Riley. And just as _she_ had with Riley, Cameron would be forced to protect him from her manipulations. He had said it himself - John belonged to her now.

Both women were interrupted when the focus of her thoughts coughed awkwardly into his hand. "Go take care of those boots Corporal. You've got a patrol in two hours and I don't need one of my best laid up with frostbite."

"Yes sir." Darla nodded once before glaring at Cameron a last time and stalking towards the door. At the last second she seemed to think better of it, glancing back over her shoulder with an easy smile, remembering something Charley had said earlier. "Feel better Johnny."

John laughed, "I'm workin' on it."

Cameron could feel her hand twitching uncontrollably and was forced to slam her palm down onto her thigh in order to stop the limb's spasms as the Corporal departed the room. It pained the cyborg how easily the woman interacted with her John. It had taken her years to fully understand what 'made him tick', another expression she'd also picked up from the young man. Cameron found she was particularly fond of imagery comparing human processes to those of a machine.

Running his good hand over the stubble along his jaw, John yawned loudly. Without a second thought Cameron grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch and went to place it over him, "You need to rest John. It will aid in the healing process."

Waving away the blanket, he pulled the handle that retracted the leg-rest into the chair to rise onto unsteady legs. Cameron quickly reached out to steady him though she was at a loss as to his intentions. "Not with you still looking like that Cam. Grab the first aid kit and the good set of pliers and help me get to your room."

Despite a feeling of warmth at John's concern, Cameron found herself frowning. While she had been contemplating his potential infidelity he had been concerned about nothing but her well-being, even willing to put off his own recuperation for her benefit. Not sure what else to do she leaned in to give him a quick kiss, but froze at the last second, her lips mere centimeters from John's.

Quirking a brow at her hesitation, he ran his good hand along her cheek. He became more worried when she tried to pull back from his touch. "Cam? What's wrong?"

Shaking her head Cameron started heading for the hall closet and the first aid kit. "You don't want to kiss me when I look like this."

"Hey." Grabbing her hand and pulling her, with her cooperation, back to him John couldn't help but smile. "No lies, remember? No illusions. I know what you are Cam."

"We're all machines. You're just made of more durable materials." Without another word he leaned in to lay a tender string of kisses across the exposed metal of her cheekbone. "Come on. Lets get you fixed up."

"Then you'll sleep." It wasn't a suggestion. Putting her arm around the small of his back to steady him, Cameron set off towards the closet to retrieve the necessary supplies.

"Then I'll sleep." John conceded readily, already fighting to keep his eyes open. "So, you get anything interesting out of the guy?"

Frowning, Cameron nodded. It surprised her he didn't bother to ask about her methods of extracting the information. Like John in the future, he was learning not to ask questions to which he didn't want to know the answers. It was probably better that way. "Just a name. The man who hired him."

"A name is good. What name?"

"Colonel Mikhail Sashenka."

Their conversation trailed off as they rounded the corner and headed off upstairs, leaving in their wake a startled Private in the doorway to the kitchen still clutching the blood transfusion equipment Charley had sent her over with tightly to her chest. O'Brien shook her head repeatedly as if to clear it of the image of her beloved General fawning over a fucking metal whore. Whispering sweet nothings into it's ear.

"It's already starting." Swallowing back the bile rising in her throat Amanda headed for Derek's room where a real soldier needed her help. The one John Connor _should_ have been worried about.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 22nd, 2011  
1311 hrs

The soft and familiar clicking and clinking of plastic, metal, and springs greeted Sarah as she stepped into the small workroom at the back of the house. Cameron was hunched over the chipped and weathered work bench in her now ubiquitous black tank-top and jeans, swapping the barrel out of an all too familiar M-4. John had kept his word and her wounds were now cleaned and bandaged.

"What are you doing?" Sarah frowned at the cyborg from her position leaning against the door frame. It was painfully obvious she hadn't slept, though she had at least changed out of the blood-soaked clothes she'd been wearing. Stained with the blood of two Reese men in one night. Not her best work. "Is that John's rifle?"

Not bothering to glance up from her work, Cameron nodded absently. "Yes."

She hadn't been in a good mood already and Sarah Connor did _not_ like being ignored. "Put it back. You know he doesn't like anyone else touching it."

Finally glancing back over her shoulder, the look on the cyborg's face sent a shiver racing down the elder Connor's spine. "I'm not 'anyone else'."

Without another word she returned to her work, sliding the new barrel into place with a quiet 'click'. Sarah glanced at the end of the barrel with a low whistle, "What exactly are you planning on hunting with this Tin-Miss?"

"Terminators." Slapping a new receiver into place and piecing the rifle back together Cameron set about adjusting it to John's exacting specifications. Sarah hadn't been entirely incorrect, the young man was very picky about his weaponry. The cyborg could certainly appreciate that.

Picking up one of the special magazines the elder Connor popped one of the massive rounds out with her thumb and rolled it around in her palm checking it's heft. "These things are massive."

"They're freaking big." Cameron agreed readily. "The .50 caliber Beowulf system modifies a standard M-16 or M-4 Carbine to carry a high intensity round of unequaled stopping power. This will greatly increase the weapon's effectiveness at close range against cybernetic organisms."

Sarah frowned, "Good to know. Especially seeing as how you seem to be slipping up."

Cameron surprised the woman when her head bowed slightly, her hands stopping their work for the first time. "I am... sorry if I have disappointed you Sarah."

She wasn't sure why exactly, but that response sent Sarah from zero to livid in no time flat. "I won't be patronized by a machine! Don't you fucking pretend that you give two shits what I think!"

"You're right Sarah. I don't care what you think." Cameron admitted, stepped forward into the woman's personal space. "But John does. A lot. So I am trying to."

"Oh." Sarah nodded, glowering. "So this is your new tactic Tin-Miss? Your newest attempt to worm your way just a little bit further into his good graces? I'll give you this much, you're relentless. Too bad you didn't show this much dedication protecting him last night. Just where the hell were you anyways?"

Cameron just glowered right back. "I was with John."

"Doing what? Because it certainly wasn't keeping an eye on your surroundings!" Having built up a decent head of steam after finally finding a proper target for her wrath, Sarah wasn't letting up now. "Maybe if you worried a little less about being his friend and a little more about keeping him safe things like this wouldn't happen!"

"John requires more than physical protection Sarah." It wasn't often the cyborg had experienced anger. She was generally able to keep herself under the most stringent of emotional controls, especially where verbal abuse was concerned. Living with Derek Reese she had developed what John referred to as a 'thick skin'. But tonight she was having difficulty maintaining her calm in the face of Sarah's continued tirade.

"He is going through a difficult period of adjustment," Cameron stated coolly.

Between the attack on John, his injury, her guilt, the Corporal's continued advances, and now Sarah Connor's recriminations Cameron was having trouble keeping her temper in check. John had warned her that as her emotions developed it would become harder to repress them in times of stress, but she hadn't been expecting the urge to lash out, to retaliate, would be so strong. It was little wonder humans were so violent.

Sarah laughed bitterly. "Now you're going to tell _me_ what John needs?"

Cameron could feel her fists clench involuntarily. Knowing that any altercation between them would only make things worse for John she turned back to the table and returned to her work in the hopes a menial task would both calm her down and possibly convince the woman to leave her in peace. Unfortunately it only took a few seconds to finish her task and she found herself firmly back at square one.

"No no. This should be good." Sarah maneuvered around the table so they were face to face again. "I can't wait to hear your take on what John needs."

"Your son killed five human beings last night Sarah." Retrieving the custom magazine from the table and sliding it into the receiver with a satisfying 'click', Cameron ran her eye down the sight one last time before slipping the strap over her shoulder and closing John's tool kit. Turning back to face the woman her voice was barely above a whisper. "After he repaired my damage he spoke of the future. The Battle of Roland Creek. He cried for two hours before falling asleep."

The elder Connor could feel her throat clench up as her eyes began burning. She hadn't even considered...

"I held him." Tucking the kit under her arm Cameron headed for the door leading out into the hallway. She stopped right before the portal and quirked her head thoughtfully. "You wanted to know what he needed?"

"Yes." Sarah croaked.

"He needed you Sarah." Cameron frowned, "But don't worry. I was there for him."

Stepping out into the hall the cyborg's parting words hit her with all the force of a sledge hammer. "I'll always be there."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's note: Okay, so maybe the end wasn't a little bit dark, but I just couldn't help myself. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, I love hearing what you guys think about the story.

Visionary, Bryan0711, and Kaotic2 - I hope this was the right amount of Darla for everyone :~)

Hope everyone enjoyed the new chapter, please leave a review and let me know what you thought.


	9. Chapter 9

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 9/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 03/10/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda. (yeah, I yadda yadda'd a disclaimer)  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 9 - "Fun and Games"

* * *

Tech-Com HQ (Temporary)  
Southwest of Bakersfield California  
October 31st, 2027  
2135 hrs

The first sign you'd hit the tunnels was always the smell. Cooking fires, unwashed bodies, and the human waste you'd rather dump inside than give away your position disposing of properly. After a week on extended patrol though, it only smelled like one thing to the haggard scout sniper - home.

Apparently Amanda wasn't the only one who thought so. Duke was straining at his leash as they rounded the final bend into the complex proper and O'Brien couldn't say she blamed the mutt. Seven days with only herself as company and she'd be probably be ready for a change of pace too.

Two hulking guards now stood where twelve had just three months before. They didn't bother to salute and neither did she. Amanda would take two in the skull before she ever raised a hand to metal.

Ten minutes of winding and ever-descending passages found the gang, for lack of a better term, was exactly where she expected them to be huddled in a tight circle just outside the entry to the Command Complex already well into their Saturday night ritual. Amanda was glad she hadn't missed the fun as she was pretty sure she'd win this week, and even if she hadn't, it was still worth the bragging rights. Duke on the other hand was just happy to see Allison. He was _always_ happy to see Allison. Finally giving up the fight the Private released his leash and let him bound the last thirty feet to the girl's side, his arrival eliciting a flurry of greetings she was too tired to do much more than grunt at.

Glancing to the small piles of black CPU's sitting in front of everyone but Allison she frowned, "Am I too late?"

Derek motioned towards the decrepit lawn chair Corporal Nelson had dug from the rubble a few days before but no one had actually been brave enough to sit on yet. "You're just in time O'Brien."

"Sergeant." Freeing the tangled mass of red she only jokingly referred to as hair from her knit cap Amanda slipped into her customary seat next to her best friend who was currently still fussing over her partner. "It's nice to see you too Ally."

"You might get more attention if _you _tried licking her face." Reese's smirk lasted just long enough for the younger woman's hat to bounce off it.

Allison scruffed the fur on the sides of the dog's neck, laughing while he made short work of the grime she'd built up on her cheeks the last few days. "I know that look Amanda. How'd you do?"

Slipping down into the rusted old lawn chair beside the girl with more than a little trepidation, O'Brien was pleased when the two or three nylon filaments still holding the damn thing together didn't snap outright. Reaching into her pocket with an infuriatingly smug grin she tossed ten small black CPUs onto the dusty ground in the center of the group. Hers were as usual slightly more charred than the others, but you really couldn't blame a sniper for an overabundance of head-shots. "Read it and weep bitches. I bagged my limit."

"No fuckin' way." Hendrix glowered from the other side of the circle, leaning closer to examine the young woman's take for himself. Huey had the lead until she'd shown up, which easily explained his attitude.

Amanda smirked, "Now there's ten of 'em there Mikey so you're gonna need to use all your little piggies to count 'em."

"Looks like we've got ourselves a winner." Derek just quirked a brow before shaking his head and handing off the small plastic milk jug full of moonshine. "Nice haul Private."

"Ah, thank you." Amanda fired off in her best Elvis voice. "Thank you very much."

"Aren't we proud of ourselves?" Allison rolled her eyes, "No credit for your better half over here?"

O'Brien chuckled while taking a quick pull off the jug, only partially stifling the inevitable coughing fit. "Hey, he just sniffs 'em out. I'm the one who's gotta bring 'em down."

Running a hand along the dog's ribs Allison frowned. "He's lost more weight Amanda. Have you been feeding him enough?"

"He eats better than I do." O'Brien glowered while handing the bottle back to Reese. "Not all of us get proper food Ally."

_Or get to avoid combat. _The second part might have been unspoken but the Private's pointed glance at Allison's lack of a pile hammered it home enough for the girl to look away sheepishly. Amanda could feel the anger drain out of her almost immediately but before she could apologize a haggard Corporal came bolting out of the Command Center and right up to their circle.

The runner glanced quickly around the group, "I'm looking for Young. They said she was around here. Private Allison Young?"

Glancing up from the dog who still had his muzzle nestled on her lap, Allison quirked her head to the side in confusion. "Yeah?"

"Connor wants to see you." The man looked infinitely relieved to have found her, no one liked keeping the General waiting. "Said something about a debrief and it seemed mighty important to him. I'd move my ass if I was you."

Blushing three shades of scarlet Allison nodded quickly, "Thank you. You can tell him I'm on my way."

The runner was gone almost before she'd finished the sentence, leaving the young woman to shrug apologetically to the group while rising from the cinder blocks she'd been using as a seat. "I'll catch up with you later Amanda."

"Ally..."

"I said I'll catch up with you later." Patting Duke on the head one last time Allison turned to head for Connor's quarters in the Command Complex. She'd made it no more than ten steps when a hand on her forearm brought her to a screeching halt. Turning back to face the pissed off redhead glaring up at her she just sighed in resignation. "What?"

Amanda shook her head in disbelief, "Is this really what you want? To be another one of his whores? You told me this was gonna stop."

"I know." Pulling her arm free Allison ran her fingers along the silvery material of the bracelet that John had given her self-consciously. "I lied."

"Look... Ally." O'Brien took a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. "I know it's gotta be nice being with him. Decent food, clean clothes, probably even a bath before he...."

"It's not like that! You think I care about the food?!" Allison growled, squaring off against the soldier with a gleam in her eyes Amanda had never seen before. "John needs me!"

"_Connor_," Amanda corrected her sternly, "Don't need anyone. The sooner you realize that the less it's going to hurt you when he moves on to his next piece of ass."

The crack of Allison's hand tearing across her cheek reverberated through the tunnels, though it was easily drowned out by the ringing in her ears. "Fuck you O'Brien."

"Ally..." The older woman reached for her friend but she just brushed her hands off and stormed past the guards into the compound swiping feverishly at her face. The compound Amanda wasn't allowed inside.

Shaking her head O'Brien sauntered back to her seat and collapsed with a weary sigh. Noticing the quickly reddening welt marring her porcelain skin Derek leaned across the circle and handed off the jug of hooch with a sympathetic smile.

Tossing the Resistance fighter a grateful smile that didn't reach her eyes Amanda could only shake her head. "She loves him..."

Derek nodded as sagely as his inebriation allowed. "They always do."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 25th, 2011  
1055 hrs

Running his eyes over the white-board one last time before scanning the faces around the table for any sign of disagreement, John let out a weary sigh. "It's a good plan."

Sarah frowned down at her now lukewarm coffee, "We still don't have any idea what we're going to do if this thing's netface..."

"Okay." John pinched the bridge of his nose in barely contained frustration. "At this point I'm convinced you're doing that on purpose. It's 'network interface' and it's Wilson, not 'this thing'."

To her credit, Sarah just quirked a brow at her son. "Who pissed in your Cheerios?"

The younger Connor's shoulders drooped visibly as he drew a few deep breaths to force a calm he definitely wasn't feeling at the moment. He knew very well why he was so protective of Wilson and it had little to nothing to do with the cyborg's physical resemblance to Uncle Bob. Every insult and implication could just as easily have been directed at Cameron. Every time they asserted he wasn't a person. Every time they insinuated he didn't have a soul... _God dammit, I am _not_ fucking a toaster!_

It had been irritating when he'd thought it didn't bother her. Now that he understood how deeply she was capable of feeling it killed him to watch as she stoically accepted everything they dished out. Cameron would have told him that only his opinion mattered to her. He knew better. At least she wasn't here to have to listen to this.

"It just bothers me when you do that. He's a sentient... _being!_ Alright? He's served the Resistance for years and I just think he's entitled to a little bit of basic fucking dignity." There. Calm, concise, and even a little eloquent if he did say so himself. Well, with the exception of the F-bomb.

Private O'Brien rolled her eyes from the other side of the table while tapping her pin idly across the knuckles of her other hand. "I believe the term you're looking for is basic _human_ dignity, sir. Human being the key word there."

A strange look stole across John's face as he turned to face the woman. O'Brien was one of his best, thus the reason she was sitting at this table in the first place. That and the fact she would be playing a pivotal role in the attacks. She'd never questioned him before...

"Fine John." Sarah tossed her hands in the air, not willing to fight over this... at the moment. "We still don't know if Wilson's network interface is going to work! Better? Can we actually address the problem now or do you feel like having another Midol moment?"

Patience had been in increasingly short supply around the Connor household since the attacks. You knew it was getting bad when even Cameron was being snappish. When he'd come down the stairs that morning she'd had a bowl of cereal waiting for him, which was tossed unceremoniously into the trash, bowl included, when he'd explained he wasn't hungry.

Considering the day he'd had since, it had turned out to be a pretty spot-on omen of things to come. John had the distinct impression Cam and Sarah had it out the other night, but neither seemed willing to elaborate and he knew better than to push.

Sarah had managed maybe four hours of solid sleep in the last three days, keeping watch over Derek like a disheveled and slightly smelly sentinel. John was starting to wonder if they were all about to travel down the same road they'd been on three years ago if she didn't get her shit together ASAP. The last thing he needed at the moment was an already pissed off and possibly hallucinating Sarah Connor. He needed her strength now more than ever.

The basic problem he faced was that there was nothing more annoying in this universe or any other than a group of people all trying to blame themselves for the same thing. His mother blamed herself for 'letting' he and Derek expose themselves needlessly. Cameron blamed herself because she hadn't been standing like a statue in front of their hotel window all night. Derek blamed himself for 'dragging' Sarah out with him to the bar like you could actually force her to do something against her will and still remain in possession of your testicles.

For his part, John was convinced only he understood the truth - it was _his_ fault. Even if he hadn't insisted on going alone with Cameron to set up the safe house. Even if he hadn't been more interested in making his new girlfriend's eyes glow than preparing for Judgment Day. Even if his lack of basic freaking security precautions hadn't possibly cost Derek the use of his arm. He was John Connor.

It was his fault. That's just the way things were.

He wasn't measuring up and they were already starting to question his judgment. The problem was that John was convinced this was the one issue he couldn't budge on. They needed the machines if they were going to win this war and survive the aftermath. If he couldn't convince them of that fact... there wasn't anyone else who could. It had occurred to him more than once that when the Dark Side looked like Cameron it really shouldn't have been this tough a sell.

Shoving his chair back from the table with his good arm, John's glower was enough to bring the smattering of conversation around the table to a screeching halt. It was time to start laying the new ground rules. "There's no way to know if it will work until he's jacked into the up-link. Am I happy about it? No. Would I feel more comfortable with a dry run? Hell yes. But there's really only one question we need to answer Lieutenant. Does anyone have a _better_ plan?"

Scanning the table again he was pleased to see he'd made his point. Only Sarah, Cameron, and Ellison actually had the fortitude to meet his eyes. "Didn't think so."

"So, lets move along to team composition. Lieutenant Baum, you'll be taking Alpha. " Flipping the board on it's axis John nodded towards the names scrawled across the other side it in blue marker. "Alpha team is going to take and hold the satellite uplink station. Our friends in the future were thoughtful enough to outfit Wilson with the closest thing to Plug and Play we could ask for short of a USB port so we shouldn't have any problems there. Regardless I'm sending Specialist Austin with you in case unforeseen technical problems arise mid-mission."

"You won't be coming with us?" Sarah did not look happy. John sighed, _tough shit_.

"No. With Derek out of commission we're short a team leader." Motioning to the diagrams he'd handed out earlier he continued, "This station is in Bum-Fuck and the scanning process is non-invasive so the authorities should be none the wiser. This is the linchpin of the entire operation people. Wilson is the only chance we have of locating these Triple-8's. Skynet has never trusted it's machines and for once that's going to work in our favor."

John shook his head. "While they set their field units to 'read only' when they're sent out, Skynet isn't stupid enough to completely sever them from it's network. That connection is always present when they're within broadcast distance so it can relay new orders or..."

Sarah snorted, "So it can self-destruct them if they go rogue."

Her son raised his eyebrows in surprise. His mother's insight never ceased to amaze him. Nor did her ability to boil a situation down to it's bare bones. "Exactly. Now most terminators are only outfitted to receive but like I said, the Resistance outfitted Wilson to be a transmitter. He doesn't have Skynet's processing power which means we can't flat out hijack their systems or anything, but he _can_ initiate a self-diagnostic which will send all of the unit's Situational Data back to 'Skynet', or in our case, our friend Wilson who's gonna be posing as Skynet. What's more, it's set to do so without consciously alerting the unit, which means the Triple-8s won't have any idea they're being pinged."

"Situational Data?" It was his mother's turn to shake her head, "How does that help us?"

"Included in that," John's smile was ear-to-ear as he retook his seat. "Is their GPS coordinates. Doesn't get much easier than that now does it?"

"It could." Cameron provided helpfully as she rounded the corner into the dining room and greeted John with a small smile. "If you had GPS-guided missiles we could simply..."

"Rhetorical, Cam." John returned her smile.

"Of course. Sarah." The cyborg greeted the woman with a cool nod before slipping into her customary place at John's side. "Private Reiger said you requested my presence."

"Perfect timing as always Cam. Grab a seat." He waited for her to sink down into the chair to his right before continuing. "I want you at these meetings from now on, alright?"

John might have been oblivious to the looks crisscrossing the table at his words but Sarah picked them up instantly. His soldiers were finally picking up on an unconscious, but very telling, trait he'd developed in his interactions with the cyborg. Cameron was the only person John did that with. It was never an order. Always a _request_.

Looking a little confused but more than willing to comply the cyborg nodded. "Alright."

"Good. Now that Cameron's here we can move on to phase two." Flipping through the legal pad in front of him John drained the last of his coffee with a grimace. It had gone cold thirty minutes ago. "Now we don't have much time to complete this OP before Judgment Day which narrows down our options considerably. The limited time-frame, our smaller pool of manpower, and the fact we'll have to hold the up-link station for the duration means we need to focus on speed. Quick, devastating strikes are going to be the order of the day on this one."

"Two strike teams, designated Whiskey and Tango, will be dispatched to deal with the two closest targets," Tossing a thumb over his shoulder John pointed to the map of North America on the wall with pins connected by various colors of yarn adorning it. "We just don't have enough troops to hit all three at once so after neutralizing the first two targets we'll regroup and take the last one at full force."

Sarah nodded along. So far it seemed reasonable. "Why not just send one of the teams after the last target? We'll be stuck at the up-link for the duration, if everyone else is hunting terminators who's going to set up the safe house?"

"No time." John shook his head. "The Triple-8's may have no idea we're locating them but I'm assuming they'll have help in this time line, most likely grays who've set up front corporations. They're bound to notice when two of their most valued assets get knocked off in short order."

Cameron frowned, "And elevate security around the last terminator accordingly."

"Which is why we'll need everyone for the final assault." John agreed with a smirk. It's like they didn't expect him to have thought of this himself. "Each team is going to be packing for terminator. Remember though, try to disable them if you can, the data in those chips could do a lot of good in the right hands."

"You mean in _our_ hands." Ellison eyed the young man pointedly from the other side of the table. The former agent didn't pipe in often, but when he did, he got everyone's attention.

Connor just rolled his eyes. "Same thing. But as long as it doesn't end up in Skynet's we'll call it a victory."

"Whiskey is broken down into two, four-man squads." Returning everyone's attention to the white board with a wave of his hand John ticked off the names, "Reed will be heading up Whiskey Two with O'Brien, Carmack, and Coons. I'll take Whiskey Lead with Cole, Reiger, and Huey."

John made it a point to ignore his mother's glower and Cameron's unflinching stare. He knew they were all going to be discussing his decision... in detail. He just hoped they were both smart enough to bring their concerns to him in private rather than air them in front of the rest of the group. In fact he'd kind of been counting on them being smart enough, thus the reason he'd broken the news to them during the meeting. If Sarah thought she was pissed of now though...

"With Derek wounded Tango's going to have to be cut down to a single six man squad." Taking a moment to adopt what he hoped was a passable facsimile of his future self's 'don't fuck with me' stare, John powered ahead. "So I've decided you'll need every extra advantage you can get. That's why Cameron will be taking over Derek's command until he's back on his feet."

Silence.

Complete, total, awkward as hell, silence. Even Cameron was looking at him like he'd grown a second head, most likely because he'd just told her in no uncertain terms that they would both be going into combat at the same time and she wouldn't be there to protect him. Not exactly the 'thanks for having confidence in me John' he was hoping for, but not entirely unexpected either.

_Power through Johnny_. "Since Tango is going to be smaller and I'm stealing our only scout sniper for Reed's squad, there's a much higher chance of up close and personal combat with that Triple-8. Cameron has more experience than anyone else here dealing with that kind of fight, I trust her to get you all out of there in one piece."

"Cam," John turned to face her only to be greeted with the emotionless facade she usually reserved for others. "Corporals McGhee and Lorne will need to be brought up to speed when we're done here. Raid the armory and get them acquainted with the new 40mm launchers."

There was another stretch of awkward silence while John silently pleaded with her using nothing more than his eyes. Finally deciding he would face enough obstacles in following through with this decision without her adding to it, Cameron nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"Good." The young man exhaled a little more forcefully than he'd intended. Running an eye over the faces surrounding him at the table, John figured he should get the hell out of here while he was still ahead of the game. The boiling point didn't appear far off and it would probably be best to give everyone some space to cool off and let his reasoning sink in. Slapping his good palm down onto the table he did his level best at channeling his mother. "Lets get to work people. Alpha departs in forty-eight hours."

* * *

Location Unknown  
Newark, New Jersey  
Feb 25th, 2011  
0730hrs

Arte had never been to the United States before, but so far she had to say it looked pretty much the same as any other industrial area in Eastern Europe. Perhaps a bit cleaner, but she assumed one warehouse was the same as any other, regardless of where they were on the planet.

Dimitri was at her side as they passed line after line of nondescript shipping containers, two of her father's most trusted men traveling in lockstep a few feet behind. Arte had known most of them since before she could walk, 'Uncle' Dimitri in particular. He had visited their home often when she was a child, always with a smile and a bar of contraband Western chocolate. It wasn't until many years later she'd realized he worked for her father at the KGB.

Contrary to the vision of the warm and friendly man she knew as a child, Dimitri was a cold-blooded assassin who had earned his high position by virtue of surviving when all of his compatriots had not. There was something to be said for that sort of accomplishment, especially in the kind of world he and Pezevenk Sarkissian inhabited.

Trying to hide her nervousness by clenching her hands behind her back Arte turned to her father's oldest friend, speaking in Armenian on the off chance someone nearby might overhear. "You have a plan, yes?"

"My intelligence team have located the targets, little one." Spotting the container number he'd been looking for Dimitri guided the young woman around the corner with a hand at the small of her back. Warming a bit at the smile she gave him when he used her childhood nickname, he continued. "Your father was right, this is not our average quarry."

"If it were, he would not have sent you." Arte insisted.

"Da little one. You share the General's sharp insight." Stopping in front of a massive blue boxcar the assassin eyed the serial number one last time before nodding to the men behind them. "Nikolai, this is it."

Guiding Arte back from the door while the soldier sliced through the locks with a pair of bolt-cutters, Dimitri shook his head. "Your father has already dispatched ten more men, they will arrive tomorrow night. This compound they live in is impenetrable. If we attack them head on we will lose many men and still likely fail in the end. We will wait and watch. Patience will provide us with an opportunity to destroy them in the open, it always does."

There was a sharp 'pop' followed by the clatter of the lock and chain crashing to the asphalt. Nikolai hammered the handles to the side with the bolt-cutters before yanking the locking bars upwards and swinging the massive steel doors open.

Arte chocked back a gasp as the early morning sunlight poured through the opening to illuminate row after row of weapons and ammunition stacked to overflowing inside the nondescript shipping container. Noting her shocked expression Dimitri ran his flashlight over the back of the container revealing a pair of Jeeps already outfitted with perfectly 'legal' New Jersey plates. "The United States likes to believe they are secure, and for the most part they are. It is virtually impossible to get such weapons on a plane."

"With a few weeks and a little forward planning though...East Coast ports are one of the most crooked enterprises known to man." Dimitri's grin was barely contained. "Organized crime here is almost as efficient as it is back home. Though they still have much to learn."

Running her fingers over an RPG-7 on a wall rack Arte frowned, "Is all of this really necessary? You have enough weaponry here to mount an invasion."

"I do not like to do a job half-way, little one." Motioning for his men to start loading the Jeeps Dimitri pulled the girl's hand away from the tank killer with a chastising smile. "Didn't your father teach you not to touch such things?"

Her reply was cut short as a pair of voices approached from outside the container bringing all action inside to a screeching halt.

"Hey! I'm talkin' to you jackass!" The thick New York accent echoed off the metal making it even more annoying as two dock employees in coveralls and hardhats stormed towards them. "This is a restricted area, comprende? You understand 'restricted area'?"

His friend shoved his chest out as they rounded the edge of the container, "Translates roughly into homeland security beatin' on your ass good and proper for bein' where you're not supposes to be."

Admittedly, English wasn't Dimitri's first language, but he could have sworn the word 'supposed' had a 'd' in it. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all big misunderstanding. I have all documentation necessary right here."

"I don't care if you've got a backstage pass to the next Springsteen show you commie fuck..." Catching sight of the inside of the container the man's eyes bulged in a mixture of shock and terror.

Teddy Scarborough never got to finish his final xenophobic thought. Dimitri pulled the silenced 9mm from the shelf beside him and with as much emotion as most people exhibited stepping on a bothersome insect placed two rounds into each man's chest. He would have preferred a single shot to the head but was unsure of the effect the mens' hardhats might have had on the trajectory of such a low caliber round. Best to be sure.

Eying the pistol for a few seconds while checking it's heft, Dimitri smiled in approval before slipping it into his bag. Arte was beside herself while his soldiers calmly dragged the bodies to the far corner of the shipping container.

It took her a few moments to compose herself before she was able to keep her voice down to an acceptable level. "Was that _really_ necessary Dimitri?"

"No." The man admitted with a shrug, "But I despise bad diction."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 25th, 2011  
2100 hrs

Derek Reese absolutely hated being laid up. Hated everything about it.

He hated the way you had nothing to focus on but the pain and the feeling of hard-earned muscles slowly deteriorating from lack of use. He hated the fact you had nothing to do but think. He hated the way those thoughts almost always revolved around what you'd done to get your sorry ass in this position in the first place.

Of course he'd never never had an ample supply of top-of-the-line painkillers and a Playstation 3 before either, and he had to admit, it made all the difference in the world. Having been regularly trapped inside his own home by a monster John referred to as GI Sarah, the kid had more than a few good ideas when it came to keeping yourself occupied while stuck on your back. Derek had a few good ideas too, but no company of the female persuation to try them out on.

At least Sarah had finally left his side for a while. The attention was appreciated and everything but the woman was a mess and frankly... getting kinda smelly. He'd thanked Gods he hadn't talked to in years when he'd heard her shower kick on a few hours before.

So John had thrust the distracting little contraption on him when he'd caught his uncle re-categorizing the supply cache list... for the third time. In Derek's defense, he'd been reshuffling from alphabetical to geographical location, which he'd thought the Boss would have appreciated.

Apparently not.

It wasn't _his_ fault a post-apocalyptic Resistance didn't have a lot of paperwork. Hell, towards the end there weren't many left who could have read it anyways. Literacy isn't a very high priority when you're fighting for survival. He knew for a fact that both Carmack and Lorne were functionally illiterate, which John had insisted they work on.

It had taken him a while to figure out how to operate the controls with only one properly functioning arm, but a little persistence and a lot of boredom had proved a lethal combination. Just goes to show that there isn't a machine on this Earth Derek Reese couldn't make his bitch. An authoritative knock at the door had the Resistance fighter pausing Madden 2011 and tossing the controller to the foot of the bed. "It's open."

Backing in with a tray of food perfectly balanced in one hand and a large glass of orange juice in the other was the last person... _cyborg_, he corrected himself with a mental slap, he had been expecting to see. Using more grace than he usually associated with metal Cameron pulled his door shut behind her with her foot before approaching his bed with a neutral look. "I've brought food."

Derek smirked, "I can see that. Why are _you_ bringing it?"

"John asked that I check in on you." Setting the stainless steel serving tray down on the nightstand beside the Resistance fighter's bed, Cameron handed off the orange juice along with three large white pills. Realizing at the last moment that he couldn't hold the pills and the glass at the same time with only one working hand she actually looked a little sheepish as she set them down beside him on the bedspread. "He was also insistent that I watch you take your medication."

"Was he now?" Rolling his eyes at the pills next to him Derek took a swig of the orange juice before handing it back to her. "If he cares so much why the hell didn't he bring the food?"

Cameron frowned pointedly, "He's busy briefing his squad for the..."

"Bullshit." Derek tossed the pills into the back of his throat and dry-swallowed them, cringing a little at the bitter aftertaste. "He can't handle seeing someone who was wounded under his watch. He needs to get over that shit, wasn't his fault. And I imagine it's going to be happening a lot over the next twenty years or so."

"I understand that." It surprised him that Cameron appeared genuinely troubled by his words, "John does not."

"He can be thick-headed." Shaking his head Derek grabbed the orange juice and took a long swallow hoping to banish the bitter aftertaste of the pills. In actuality it just mixed together and made everything worse. Kind of like this conversation. "Just like his father."

Cameron nodded, glancing to the door over her shoulder. "He is making... unpopular decisions."

"Shocker." Picking at the chips on his plate Derek tried to ignore the look on the cyborg's face. She seemed genuinely concerned about the situation and it bothered him more than he wanted to let on. It was days like this he was forced to ask himself how much of her behavior really was just an act. There was no advantage to be had by coming to him with this information. In fact it would probably piss John off if he ever found out. The only reason for coming to him was a genuine desire to make sure he was protected from any danger. Even her.

Tossing the uneaten food back onto his plate he ran an appraising eye over her. "What did he do?"

"He put me in charge of your command." Shaking her head Cameron turned back to him, "He is leading an assault team personally... I won't be with him."

_Shit. _Derek sighed. It was never an easy problem when it came to Connor.

On the one hand he was sure he was supposed to be doing back-flips that John was breaking the umbilical he seemed to have developed with the machine, but on the other the idea of him entering a potentially harmful situation without her had become almost unthinkable... even to him. He knew how John's mind worked. The kid wasn't stupid. Blind sometimes, but not stupid.

He most likely knew there would be waves when he put Cameron in charge of his squad and had decided to cut the rumors off at the hilt by distancing himself from her. Smart move, but it wouldn't be enough. For all his genius John just couldn't understand how the minds of these Resistance fighters worked. He may very well be able to convince the survivors of _this_ Judgment Day to trust the machines, provided he laid the groundwork of cooperation from the very beginning as he seemed to be planning. But the old salts like himself... there was just no hope. Especially where Cameron was concerned.

Most of these soldiers had seen the end of the war, otherwise John could never have spared so many to send back to the past. They resented the machine that had stolen their General away from them, though Derek had to take their word on that one, the pretty much universal distaste they displayed for her seemed to indicate not everything that had come out of Jesse's mouth had been a bold-faced lie. Then of course were those like him, those who'd known Allison, which added a whole different dimension to the problem.

John had at least assured him he wasn't sleeping with the thing. As long as that was the case Derek would go to bat for him. "I'm sure he's got his reasons."

"He insists it's because of my combat ability against T-888s." Cameron's eyes glowed slightly as she recalled his words when he'd pulled her aside after the meeting, "That my experience and durability would be an invaluable addition to the team."

"Bullshit." Derek repeated with the same finality he had earlier. Machines may be smart, but they could be _so_ dense sometimes. Just because he didn't like it didn't mean Reese couldn't see the truth when it was staring him straight in the eyes. "He put you in charge for the same reason he chose me and Sarah. Because we're the only people he trusts."

Rolling his eyes the Resistance fighter came to a grudging decision. "Don't worry. I'll run a little damage control."

"_This _time." The edge in the man's voice got his point across.

Knowing better than to express too much emotion around the volatile human Cameron kept her smile to a barely perceptible smirk. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." After a short pause Derek returned her smile. "Seriously. Don't mention it. _Ever_."

"Understood." Cameron spun on a heel and headed quickly for the door. It was best to retreat while the man was in an agreeable mood.

"You knew him in the future." Derek's voice caught her just as she was clearing the doorjamb, causing her to pause mid-step. Pulling the tray of food off his nightstand and setting it down on his lap Derek tore into his meal. "You know what it means when Connor trusts you."

Cameron nodded once. "I do."

Smirking around a mouthful of rice Derek pointed his fork at her. "Then don't fuck it up."

Stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her, Cameron vowed she wouldn't.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note - First I wanna give a huge thank you to my new beta Bigbew who has been helping me out a lot with the next few chapters. It's always appreciated man. If you haven't checked out his stories _Just Something I Should Do_, and _I Wouldn't Be Worth Much If I Couldn't Feel_, you should give both a read. Whole slew of Jameron goodness involved.

Sorry about the gap in the updates but I wanted to make sure I had all my ducks in a row for the next few chapters before embarking on this story ark.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, hope I don't miss anyone: LJM, TK-MR, Nordwest (who was thorough as always so big brownie points there), J3aless, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, Tpolich, Firespray (glad I restored your faith in TSCC fics, they're the shit), Shadow, Morded (who rocked my world with an awesome review), Bigbew, Fullhans1, Lee443, Julian Carax, and finally Kaotic2 who I am totally holding to their promise to give me a better review this time :~)

Anyways. Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed, can't wait to see your thoughts on this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 10/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 03/15/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Intro voice over is John

**_As Judgment Day draws closer I see battle lines being drawn that I had never expected._**

**_I see it in the eyes of the men who look to me for guidance, to provide them the will they sometimes lack to keep moving forward._**

**_The last time I had decades to create the image I wanted to present. I had decades to learn what would be expected of me._**

**_But when these soldiers look at me, they only see him. Any deviation brings with it a loss of faith, the steady erosion of confidence._**

**_The General doesn't have doubts. The General doesn't have fears. The General doesn't have compassion._**

**_With every day the choice becomes clearer. Either I find a way to become this man, or the last person General Connor ever kills... might just be me._**

Chapter 10 - "Play Hard"

Kruger Industrial  
Lincoln, Nebraska  
Feb 28th, 2011  
0345

"Get on the horn with Reed and have him shift some god-damned M-32 fire onto that building! See if he can spare O'Brien too, that Barret would be a lot of help right now if she's brave enough to run the gauntlet. Until these fuckers are fragged we are goin' _nowhere_!"

John fired off a few bursts in pure spite at the building across the courtyard before dropping back into cover. Though Cameron had outfitted his M-4 to the .50 cal Beowulf system with Terminators in mind, the ability to cut right through the walls the enemy were crouching behind at the moment was an added bonus.

He'd have to get her a card or something. _Does Hallmark make a 'Thanks For the High Caliber Rifle' section? If not, they should_.

John could hear Corporal Cole shouting into her radio over the din of battle as she bounced back and forth between relaying his orders to the cut-off squad parked in the quickly shredding atrium around the corner and firing off the occasional burst of deterrent fire at the enemy . Today was not going as planned, and that had only further soured everyone's already tenuous mood.

Just who the hell did these assholes think they _were_?

He was John Connor. He was fighting for the survival of the human race, which unfortunately happened to include the likes of these dickwads, and now on the eve of Judgment Day he's trying to drive a stake into Skynet's cybernetic heart and they choose this of all moments to fuck with him?! If that Triple-8 came rolling out of the complex while they were pinned down like this it was game over.

They were sure taking the express route to his shit list - and from all the intel he'd amassed on his future self, you did _not_ want to be on his shit list. People tended to get scratched off it pretty quickly. Especially if it fell into Cameron's hands. He couldn't help but smirk a little at the thought of unleashing her on whoever sent these mercs.

Firing off a last burst before ducking past the Corporal, who was still arguing with Reed, John almost slipped on the ever-growing pile of white hot brass at PFC Reiger's feet. His SAW was resting in a windowsill, rocking back and spraying spent brass with every burst. Never one to let a little thing like an entrenched enemy get him down, Tommy was grinning maniacally as he raked fire over the building he seemed determined to demolish one bullet at a time.

"Reign it in champ, I haven't seen a head pop up in two minutes." It was difficult to instill an aura of quiet command into his voice while he was trying desperately to fend off laughter at the PFC's crestfallen look. In his defense it wasn't every day the Resistance gunner ran up against an enemy he could actually suppress, so he was bound to get a little worked up. Deciding to placate the other man slightly, Connor rested a hand on his shoulder. "Reload and cover the western egress. I've got a feeling they'll be desperate to relocate when Reed start shelling their shit."

He left out the part about them likely moving to flank from that direction. Reiger was smart enough to figure that out for himself and there was no need to panic everyone unnecessarily. The sound of gunfire closing in to the west of the atrium was doing a fair job of that all by itself. Someone was turning their flank.

Before his gunner could respond, Cole slamming her comm down caught everyone's attention. She tossed her superior an apologetic and frustrated look, not waiting for him to ask the obvious question before answering it. "No dice, sir. They've got fucking APCs coming down the service road to the west. We're on our own."

"APCs huh?" Bobbing his head, John was already running through the options in sequence. At least now he knew where that fire was coming from.

Alright. He hadn't exactly been expecting a private corporation, even a front for Skynet, to have light armor on hand. That sucked. He also hadn't been expecting two squads of mercs showing up to ruin his shit. That _really_ sucked. Cameron and Sarah were going to have a field day over this one. Was it wrong that was the part that worried him the most at the moment?

"If we can take that building we can hit those APCs right in their flank." John mused aloud.

The Corporal frowned, "We've got five people here, sir. I counted at least twenty storming in there and I mighta missed some. You know... with ducking the return fire and everything."

"Can Reed send O'Brien over here to pin 'em down?"

Darla shook her head, hair spilling out from under her helmet and in front of her eyes where she swiped it away in annoyance before squeezing off a few rounds through the window above her. "He said she's the only thing keeping those APCs off their ass. They've got a pretty well trained security force baring down on them over there."

"Who do they think we're dealing with over _here_, the fucking Girl Scouts?" John dropped a few inches lower as fresh waves of fire rained down on their position from across the courtyard. "Squad - suppressing fire!"

Everyone found a hole and for the next thirty seconds unleashed holy hell on anything that moved, looked like it might move, or had possibly moved in a previous life. The enemy, most likely a few less of them now, seemed to have hunkered back behind their makeshift cover for the moment as the fire petered out on both sides before devolving into the occasional pot-shot. Despite the lull in the action, Connor glowered while running his eyes up and down the troops within earshot. "Well I can't speak for anyone else here, but I've had about enough of _that_ shit."

Various nods and affirmative grunts greeted his frank assessment of the situation, causing him to break out into a lopsided grin. "Reiger, keep eyes on that western egress point. Hendrix, you cover him. Here." John handed off his HK-69 and the bandoleer of 40 mm grenades around his chest. "Don't use 'em all, we'll need them when the metal shows up."

Wheels spinning full speed now, John tossed his chin in the direction of his former pilot, "Huey, I need you two to hold down the fort and put up enough fire to convince them we're all still sitting pretty. Piss as much lead as you can without going dry."

Catching Connor's eyes, the man's body was all but screaming apprehension as he slipped the bandoleer over a shoulder. He'd been with him long enough to recognize that tone in his voice, even when it was coming out of his nineteen year old self's mouth. Long enough to recognize it, and fear it. "Mind if I ask what you're plannin' boss?"

The man's apprehension didn't bother John in the least. Hell, it was his_ job _to be paranoid. "You remember that story you told me about Salt Lake City?"

Hendrix was less than enthusiastic and he didn't hesitate to let it be known. "I remember you got shot in Salt Lake City."

John glowered at him,"Not what I was referring to."

Huey shook his head slowly. He would follow his CO's orders, he always did, but nowhere in the regs did it say he had to be happy about it. The Battle of Salt Lake City had been a mess - a house-to-house slug-fest... well, burned out shack -to- burned out shack slug-fest, that lasted weeks. Casting a lingering glance over the open courtyard and it's adjoining buildings, the Lieutenant knew exactly the kind of shit Connor was planning to pull. "Yeah boss, I remember Salt Lake City. You goin' in the third floor or the fourth?"

"Actually," John's grin was beaming out full force now as he motioned to the lab complex to the right which ran nearly the entire gap between their position and the enemy's and made up the south wall of the courtyard, "I was thinkin' the roof. Gap's only a meter and a half or so."

John was already shucking off his extra kit in preparation for the intended jump.

"We'll work our way down from there and clean house. Keep up as much fire as you can on the lower stories, that should limit how many of them can disengage to deal with us." Slapping a fresh magazine into the receiver he could only shrug, "Listen, it wouldn't be my first choice either, but these assclowns know what they're doing and we're on a timetable. Odds are they've got every ground level entrance rigged somehow and sentries on every floor. I just hope they find the idea of jumping across those buildings as crazy as you do, then maybe they didn't bother to waste a squad guarding the roof."

Hendrix couldn't fault his logic in the slightest, and that's what was really bothering him. The man had a way of turning the most harebrained ideas around on their head until they sounded as reasonable as walking across the street. Unfortunately, in this case, they would be walking across the street into a hail of gunfire. "Sir, I still feel the need to point out that _most_ Generals wouldn't feel it necessary to lead the assault team personally."

"Like Cole pointed out, we're short on manpower at the moment." John snagged a few extra magazines and two grenades from his discarded kit and distributed them among various cargo pockets as he spoke, "Still. No one ever mentions this to my mother. Hooah?"

"Hooah." Mike nodded side to side. "We'll hold down the fort, sir."

John checked his gear one last time and motioned over his shoulder, "Cole, you're with me. We're going light and fast so ditch anything that's not absolutely necessary."

Tossing her pack to the floor Darla quirked a brow at him, "So... my makeup kit?"

John rolled his eyes as he picked up his carbine and began moving towards the door that lead into the side alley. "We're headed to the roof Cole," he pushed the door open slowly with the barrel of his rifle, peering out into the alley over the sights, "It would be soooo easy..."

The rest of his two man assault team slipped out through the door while he covered her, Connor nodding over his shoulder to his gunner, "Light 'em up!"

Before he had even managed to shut the door completely, fire erupted from their position, lead and the occasional 40mm grenade slamming into the crumbling facade of the office building the mercenaries had fortified. The ornate fountain whose unfortunate destiny it was to occupy the space between the combatants had nearly ceased to exist. Water had flooded the courtyard and was now seeping into the surrounding alleyways as John jogged quickly to the nearest fire escape. Ducking into cover and motioning for Cole to do the same, he paused a moment to weigh his options.

While the fire escape was the most direct route to the roof, it would leave them completely exposed if there were any unfortunately placed snipers nearby. Entering the building offered a reasonable amount of cover, but there was a good chance they had boobytrapped the surrounding structures. It's what he would have done.

John motioned silently to the rusted ladder of the fire escape, passing along his orders in a few efficient hand signals. They would stagger their advance, the highest man covering the one below him as they made their way up the stairs. If there was a sniper out here, at the very least they wouldn't provide him with an abundance of stationary targets. Impossibly, the fire from the courtyard seemed louder here in the alley as it echoed and reverberated off the narrow gap between the buildings, adding a sense of urgency to their ascent.

His fears proved unfounded as they emerged unmolested onto the roof and began moving quickly to their 'jumping off point'. One thing he hadn't anticipated was the course gravel crunching and sliding beneath their booted feet. It was a damn good thing the rest of their squad was still keeping up with a steady stream of suppressive fire as their advance across the roof was less than stealthy. Both soldiers crouched low as they got closer to their target, Connor ducking behind an industrial air conditioning unit and motioning for the Corporal to do the same. He couldn't help but cast a weary glance over the adjacent building, the first tendrils of real apprehension racing up and down his spine.

Was it just him, or had that gap grown while they were on their way up here? Not that backing down now was an option - the only thing John feared more than a six story fall was looking like an idiot. Especially in front of a beautiful woman.

It was a guy thing.

"Once we breach we don't stop until we hit the ground floor, understood?" Connor waited a moment for her to acknowledge his orders before continuing, "I'll take point, you'll bring up the rear. I want you on the opposite side of the hall from me no more than three meters back. Odds are we'll run into at least one fire team in there, and if we want to survive it we need to make every shot count. Hold your fire until a I drop the first man, then just do the best you can to pick off whatever scraps I leave you. Remember, we're outnumbered here, so it's important that we're never shooting at the same guy."

John closed his eyes, taking in a series of deep, calming breaths. He made a conscious effort to close off his mind to any thoughts that weren't directly connected with their immediate survival as he slipped into what his men only half-jokingly referred to as his 'command mode'. _If they only knew_...

Dragging a practiced eye over the roof just ten meters away from them, he plotted his every move between their current position and the door leading down into the building - he didn't want to have to slow down once they hit the roof on the off chance there _was_ a sniper nearby who just hadn't found a shot he'd liked yet. His eyes never leaving the door, John thumbed his radio over to their squad's frequency. "We're Oscar Mike, I'll check in every time we drop a floor. Keep the line open in case I need to direct your fire."

The Lieutenant knew better than to respond, and John was already moving at a quick trot across the open rooftop. He didn't need to look behind him to know that Cole had fallen into position a few feet back. _Thirteen steps to the ledge_, John cringed inwardly, _good omen there_. To say the ledge was approaching with startling rapidity would be an understatement. It wasn't until he was less than four paces away that he remembered exactly how much he hated heights. His breath hitched and his palms slicked, his feet stuttering in hesitation.

It was like his brain had shut down. All he managed to process was the sickening vision of his battered and broken body embedded four feet into a Wile E. Coyote crater. It occurred belatedly that the quickest path to making that vision a reality would be to hesitate now - he already had too much momentum going to stop himself this close to the ledge.

He took the last two steps in long, loping strides to build up as much momentum as possible. His boot slammed into the slightly raised ledge along the perimeter of the roof and he shoved off with everything his legs could muster. All John could register for a tortuously long moment was the wind whistling past his ears and the blood pounding impossibly loud in his head while the sky streaked by, followed by a sickening crunch.

It took a second before John realized he hadn't in fact broken both his ankles, and the crunch had come from his boots impacting the gravel strewn over the surface of the roof. Luckily his brain was still locked firmly in command mode, and his feet started moving towards the door while his thoughts were still a jumble of residual terror and shocked relief. In one smooth movement he snagged the carbine from his shoulder and flipped off the safety, firing a quick glance behind to confirm the rest of his team had made the jump in one piece.

John didn't have more than an instant to dwell on this minor hiccup, or to take a breath, or make peace with his God, before all hell broke loose.

He was no more than three paces away from the door, still running at a pretty good clip, when the portal burst open, revealing a large man with a PKM over his shoulder and a shocked look etched across his features. Already less than fifteen feet away with a decent head of steam built up, all Connor could think of was closing the short distance between them before the soldier could cut him in half with the high caliber machine gun clenched in his now white-knuckled hands.

The last few steps were a blur as he picked up speed, dropped his shoulder, and rammed into the larger man, sending both of them tumbling back through the door frame. They flew across the scarred section of concrete separating the door from the stairs in a jumble of swinging arms and legs, and it was only as they were about to tip over the edge that John caught sight of the two other mercs who had been making their way up the narrow staircase, but had frozen in surprise at their comrade flying backwards down the well.

It seemed to occur to John for the first time that his fall was not inevitable, and he might be better served staying right the fuck where he was at the moment. Locking his good hand firmly around the side of his enemy's neck, John lodged his left boot as securely as he could into the side railing and shoved backwards until his shoulders made contact with the opposite wall, securely wedging himself into the narrow hallway.

The mercenary was frantically grasping at the front of John's uniform with both hands, his weapon already clattering ahead of him down the stairs as his fingers scratched and clawed for any purchase that might keep him from tumbling after. Not that he had to worry about it, John wasn't finished with him just yet.

Using the man's momentary lapse against him, he wrenched his injured arm behind him and down to his belt, his other hand still clutching the man's throat and squeezing with everything he had. Fighting past the pain, John didn't stop until he felt his fingers wrap around cold metal. In one smooth movement, he yanked the pin from the grenade and slammed his helmeted head into the soldier's unprotected face. There was a sickening and unmistakable crack of bone and cartilage giving way followed by a few warm drops of blood splashed across Connor's forehead as the man tumbled backwards down the stairs with a gurgling howl.

Both of the soldiers on the stairs raised their weapons, but couldn't fire without hitting their rapidly descending comrade, nor could either of them get out of the way before he slammed into them and brought the whole group to the bottom of the stairs in a tangle of limbs and weapons. There was however a moment of confusion when, instead of taking advantage of their current immobility to rain fire on them down the narrow hall, their young attacker threw his body back out onto the roof and kicked the heavy steel fire door closed behind him.

Their confusion ended abruptly when the frag grenade he'd shoved into their friend's uniform before knocking him down the stairs detonated in their midst and brought all future contemplation to a permanent halt.

Gritting his teeth against the pain tearing down his left forearm John let Darla pull him back to his feet by the strap of his tac-vest. Catching sight of her barely contained grin he just shook his head, "Not a word..."

"Would never dream of it, sir." Pushing the now wobbly door open with the barrel of her M-16 Cole's grin became a grimace in no time flat. "Did you consider that there's no other way down before making your little mess?"

Shoving past the woman and trotting down the stairs John's eyes were ice, "Nut up soldier."

He could hear Darla fall into step behind him as they descended the short staircase. Despite the attitude, John was less than enthusiastic about covering the last few steps, his stomach churning uncomfortably as his left boot sank a good six inches into a torso he hadn't assumed was that damaged. Ignoring the small bits of gore dribbling down from the door frame he halted long enough to slice the pie and scan the corridor outside. A brief hand signal had Cole darting past him to the far wall as he covered her, waiting until she got into position before leapfrogging to the next doorway under her cover.

Pausing only long enough to flick a piece of mercenary off his boot with the barrel of his M4, he forced a few calming breaths past clenched teeth as they approached the only machine gun nest on the top floor. Cole hopped the gap as silently as possible, taking up her position on the other side of the door frame.

Signaling a three count John pulled a flashbang from his tac-vest, the pin sliding free in one smooth motion as he rolled it across the threshold and into the small office behind them. As soon as the light splashing the wall across the hallway had faded he swung into the open doorway, dropping to a knee allowing Cole to swing in above him. Three men were stumbling around the room, two of them firing wildly in their general direction with small arms. John dropped the two on the left in one long, raking burst. Cole decided on a more subtle approach, squeezing a single three round burst off from her M-16 and into the center of the machine gunner's chest.

"Move!" John hissed, bouncing back out of the doorway and motioning to the stairwell at the end of the hall. Thumbing the contact on his radio he could hear the Corporal falling back into position behind him. "Fourth floor is clear. We're Oscar Mike."

"We've got a problem boss!" Hearing the bud in his ear jump to life Connor tossed up a closed fist and took a knee behind a water fountain.

"Report."

There was a pause of a few second during which John felt the building rock slightly with what he assumed was another 40mm grenade strike to one of the lower levels. "You've stirred the nest, sir. At least two of their fire teams have disengaged and are now moving to intercept."

"Fan-fucking-tastic. Whiskey copies." At least that meant fewer of these guys were shooting at his men. Small consolation at the moment. Rising over the top of the fountain he leveled the barrel of his M4 at the fire door separating them from the stairwell. "They're comin' up the stairs Cole."

Reaching into the room beside her Darla brought one of the heavy steel filing cabinets crashing into the hall by tipping it from the top, a few scraps of paper spilling out onto the tile floor. Managing to squeeze most of her slight frame behind the cabinet she brought her M-16 to bare with an incongruous grin. "So, you havin' fun yet Johnny?"

Quirking a brow, John could only shake his head. "Oh yeah. Best birthday ever."

* * *

*Two Days Earlier*

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 26th, 2011  
0200 hrs

Scrolling through the increasingly blurry lines of text for the third time in fifteen minutes didn't help any more than it had the first two, but John kept at it. Interpol had jackets on nearly every one of the mercenaries whose bodies they'd recovered, but for the life of him John couldn't find a single thread linking all of the men together. Serbians, Czechs, Georgians, Ukrainians. Your basic Eastern European grab-bag.

Their records were as varied as their nationalities. Most had at least some level of military training and nearly all were on the watch list. Which begged the question as to just how in the hell they'd made it into the country in the first place. Someone very powerful was pulling the strings here.

Tabbing back to the Denver Post's website he glared at the grainy security camera stills and the police composites accompanying them like he could intimidate the images into divulging their secrets.

Unsurprisingly, It didn't work.

"This doesn't make any sense...," Rolling his head back onto his neck against stiff and protesting muscles John spun his desk chair around intending to go to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee.

Fate had apparently decided adrenaline would do just fine, which was the only explanation he could come up with for the beautiful if infuriatingly sneaky cyborg standing behind him like that. "Christ!"

"No, Cameron." The corner of her lips quirked up at what she considered to be a particularly effective 'ice-breaker'. A psychological text she'd read last week while John was sleeping insisted humor to be an excellent tool for mediating social tension caused by an unintended fauxpaus. It had apparently had the desired effect as the young man's face relaxed into an easy smile as he finished rising from the chair.

"Keep that up and I'm soldering a bell to you."

Cameron just tilted her head, "Wouldn't that make it easier for Sarah Connor to detect me sneaking into your room at night?"

"Good point." John had to give her that, "Didn't think that one through before I brought it out of the holster."

"You do tend to be impulsive." Cameron frowned. So did John.

"Alright." Letting slip a weary sigh he brought both hands up to frame her face, ignoring her pointed stare at the white gauze still covering his left forearm. Leaning down to drop a kiss on her forehead he graced her with a tired smile. "I appreciate you giving me some time."

"It seemed like the right thing to do." The cyborg's smile was almost shy. Cameron had always appreciated John's displays of affection but found her reactions had increased in intensity since they'd begun pursuing a sexual relationship. She had also become far more aware of the gaps between such affections and their impact on her mood. It had been nearly seventy-eight hours since they'd had sex. Twenty-two hours since the last time he'd kissed her. Sixteen since they'd engaged in physical contact of any kind. She found that unacceptable.

However, John's safety took precedence over her desires, or his for that matter.

"You might try explaining that concept to mom." John could only shake his head, "She was in here fifteen minutes after the briefing and didn't stop yelling for almost an hour."

"I know," Cameron ran her fingertips down his good arm, stopping at his hand to entwine her thin digits with his in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "I heard."

Really not wanting to discuss that problem at the moment John deflected the conversation by eying the patch of gauze still taped over her cheek. "Are those ready to come off?"

Cameron's eyes flashed briefly as she ran a self-diagnostic on her dermal layer. "Yes. Endoskeletal coverage is back to one-hundred percent. Healing is ongoing but will be finished within six hours provided I ingest fresh protein."

"Hungry huh?" Hearing his own stomach protest the last fifteen hours of neglect John motioned to the foot of his bed. "How does this sound? You take a seat. I'll remove your bandages. You'll talk. I'll nod when appropriate. When we're finished we'll get some food."

She eyed him for a long moment before taking a seat on the bed, the action more to throw him off balance than any real hesitation. It was best to keep John on his toes. "Agreed."

Rolling his desk chair the short distance to the bed John took a seat in front of her, lovingly brushing the hair back behind her ears so he could start off with the smaller bandaids. "Alright. Have at me."

"John," Her smile would have brought him to his knees if he hadn't been sitting down already. "Now is hardly the time."

Suddenly concentrating incredibly intently on removing the bandaid over her eyebrow John stuttered slightly. "I meant that you could start berating me now."

"Oh." It unnerved him sometimes the way she could shift from overtly flirtatious to know-it-all cyborg faster than a ten-second car. He found it... jarring. "'Have at you'. To give you hell. To bitch you out. To come down on you like a ton of..."

"I'm hiding the thesaurus." He grumbled while pulling the gauze square from her cheek. The jagged wound that had been all the way down to her endoskeleton was now little more than a collection of light pink lines resembling kitten scratches.

"It's not from the thesaurus." Cameron stated helpfully, "In order to fit in more effectively I read the Urban Dictionary online."

John froze like she'd just told him she'd replaced his deodorant with anthrax which gave the cyborg pause. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Of course not." Shaking the image of Cameron with a grill from his head forcefully John motioned for her to remove her shirt. "You haven't been trying any of it out on mom have you?"

Yanking her tank-top off and tossing it onto the floor beside the bed Cameron quirked a skeptical brow at him, "You be trippin' playa?"

"Good." John would have laughed, but there was nothing funny about Cameron Phillips topless. "Lets keep it that way."

"You're trying to distract me."

"Says the girl with her shirt off." John scoffed before setting about removing the bandages. After a moment he glanced up to meet her eyes, looking suitably sheepish as he nodded, "Yeah. I'd just rather talk about something more pleasant than my fuckups."

It was Cameron's turn to nod. "Would you like to do something for your birthday?"

"Huh?" It took John's mind a second to catch up to the fact she was merely doing what he'd been asking - changing the subject. To be completely honest it hadn't even occurred to him that his birthday was coming up. A slightly more important date was looming on the horizon. "Oh. That is coming up, isn't it?"

"Yes. My research indicates it is common for those involved in a relationship to mark the occasion by doing something of significance with each other."

Quirking an eyebrow a bit John chuckled, "Since when do you care about human traditions?"

"Since I decided to pursue a relationship with one." Cameron stated matter-of-factly.

Well, he had to give her that.

About half way through removing her bandages he paused to run his fingers over the taught skin of her stomach slowly. Cameron would have assumed the action was sexual if not for the suddenly sullen look on his face. She found his recent mood swings hard to predict and this incident was no different. She reviewed the last ten minutes of their interactions four times before deciding she had no idea what had triggered his adverse reaction.

Glancing down at the area he was examining she detected no anomalies worthy of his concern. "Is something wrong?"

"Does it ever bother you that... you know," John tossed up a single shoulder in an awkward shrug, refusing to meet her eyes. "That I'm gonna get old?"

Cameron frowned. She didn't like it when John highlighted the differences between them. There were plenty of other people who saw fit to do that already. "I don't understand."

"I mean... right now we look like any other couple." John's laugh held no mirth. "Not that we get to actually act like a couple around anyone. But, if we did, It wouldn't look weird or out of place. Now ten or twenty years from now..."

He trailed off with a heavy sigh before removing the last bandage from just above her right hip. Cameron was inordinately pleased he seemed to be considering the possibility of continuing their relationship that far into the future, her files on adolescent psychology indicating those in John's age range, particularly males, were generally less than receptive to such notions. Her joy however was tempered by the cloud still hanging over his face.

Apparently catching her confused expression John lifted his wounded arm in front of him. "This isn't going to be the last one. The other day Darla was talking about my... my scars."

"Such things are common in the future," Cameron insisted.

"Still." Back on his feet John ran a shaky hand through his hair as he paced the short distance between the chair and his desk. "People wouldn't mention it if it wasn't pretty bad, right?"

"They are...," It took her longer than usual to find the right word, the last thing Cameron wanted to do was further upset him. "Noticeable."

Nodding slowly John made his way back to the bed, running his good hand over her cheek with a sad smile. "And you'll always be perfect. Timeless."

Cameron leaned into the touch, her eyes never leaving his. "That bothers you?"

Ignoring her question he drew closer, taking in the soft scent of her shampoo his mind starts to wander down paths it probably shouldn't considering all he had hanging over his head at the moment. Still, it's not like a whole lot of free time would be opening up in the near future. The next twenty years or so of his dance card were pretty well penciled in. "Cameron?"

"Yes John?"

"There's another human tradition I'd like to introduce you to." Running his nose along the curve of her jaw John's lips danced across where her pulse point should have been.

Closing her eyes to properly digest the sensations he was causing Cameron felt a reluctant smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "What tradition is that?"

"You'll like it." She could feel him returning her smile against her skin, "It involves young soldiers about to ship off to war..."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 26th, 2011  
0252 hrs

Having already checked and rechecked her team's load-out three times, Sarah Connor had very little to do before leaving for the mission the next day. Except driving herself slowly insane that is.

She was supposed to be sleeping but had chosen instead to go over John's preliminary findings on the mercenary forces who had attacked them. The police were calling it a gang hit which was definitely an eye-roll moment for the elder Connor. _Because Denver has got to be on the Russian Mafia's top ten list of potential areas for expansion. _

Derek was convinced they were mercenaries hired by the greys but that just didn't sit right with Sarah. The thug they'd run into in the bar had called her Sarah Baum. Anyone working even indirectly for Skynet would have been looking for Sarah Connor. If it had been a Skynet hit they never would have attacked without John being there. There was just no reason to tilt their hand attacking herself and Derek. Their only value was their connection to her son.

No. Something about this just wasn't right and the fact she hadn't been able to put her finger on it yet was the driving force behind the sleepless nights.

Well, it had been until John had imparted what she believed could only be considered a 'plan' in the loosest sense of the word. Sarah understood the time constraints they were under. She grasped the enormity of the situation. She had her head in the game. John had his head up his ass.

Giving Cameron command of Derek's team? Going into combat against metal without his protector? And his attitude when she'd confronted him about it... like _she_ was the crazy one. When he'd pulled out the Lieutenant card she'd almost smacked him. Part of her wishes she had. John might think of himself as the General, but he was still an eighteen year old boy, for two more days at least. Sarah still had a few tricks she'd never gotten around to teaching him and with his left arm out of action she was pretty sure she could have wiped the floor with him. In the end that was her entire point, her son had no business going into the fight right now.

Sarah had seen the look in his eyes during the briefing and knew beyond a doubt John was trying to prove something. What exactly that was continued to elude her.

She was on her feet and out of bede even before the impulse had become a conscious thought, pulling a long sleeved flannel shirt on over her customary tank top to ward off the chill of the house and slipping out of her room. Across the hall Derek's door was closed but Sarah saw bluish light flickering underneath the door and what sounded like a muted firefight coming from his television. She just shook her head at that. Laid up with two bullet holes in him, you'd think he would want to watch a nice romantic comedy or something. _That's Derek for you_...

As always the door to Cameron's spartan living space was wide open, the lights inside extinguished. As she constantly reminded anyone who would listen, the cyborg didn't sleep and generally spent her nights patrolling, conducting weapon maintenance, or helping John with his work during one of his many recent bouts of insomnia. Sarah fervently hoped she was patrolling tonight as her presence would only make dealing with John more complicated. She was always so protective of him, recently even when it came to her. Since their conversation the other night neither of them had said more than three words to the other and that was just fine as far as Sarah was concerned.

Rounding the corner of the hall she crossed the stairs leading down to the living room, idly noting the lights downstairs were still on despite the late hour, muted voices carrying up from what sounded like the kitchen. Charley had been sleeping on the couch for the last few days in order to avoid having to set and reset the alarm every few hours when checking up on Derek. Cameron had set the twenty-four digit code and it was practically impossible for anyone else to remember. Sarah imagined that was probably why she'd done it. The cyborg didn't trust anyone else when it came to protecting John and that simple action effectively made her the gatekeeper if anyone wanted to see him.

_Sneaky, sneaky cyborg..._

Clearing her thoughts with a shake of her head Sarah frowned as she approached John's closed door. He'd instituted a knocking policy, which only Cameron was immune from, and it often placed her in an uncomfortable position. Sleep had become a precious commodity where it concerned her son and she had made an effort not to interrupt it whenever possible. It was nearly three in the morning and if John had been a normal teen he would have most likely been out like a light by now.

Seeing no light spilling out from under the doorway she suppressed an eye-roll before leaning in to place her ear against the door. Expecting to pick up the quiet clacking of fingers dancing across a keyboard she was more than a little surprised when all she was able to detect was the rhythmic squeaking of bed-springs. Sarah just stood there like an idiot, her eyebrows slowly rising in comprehension until the 'thunk' of a headboard meeting the wall and a muffled groan removed all doubt from her mind as to just what in the hell her son was up to.

She bolted back from the door like it had transformed into a hot iron, her face twisting from surprise to annoyance at the revelation. Apparently John's head _wasn't_ up his ass. It was up Corporal Cole's...

Sighing, Sarah resolved to save them all the embarrassment of bursting in on them to do her yelling. She could be just as indignant in the morning when everyone had their clothes on. At least they weren't going at it in the barracks, which was a small but readily accepted consolation. She had absolutely no problem with John seeing the woman, was even a little relieved he had something besides the cyborg to spend his time with, but he needed to get his head back in the game.

There would be plenty of time for _that _when they weren't trying to juggle a Skynet hunt and enigmatic assassins. She'd have to explain that to the Corporal as well.

Digesting this new information caused a sudden and unexpected wave of exhaustion to bombard her, she was really getting too old for this shit. The fighting advanced cybernetic soldiers from the future part was absolute cake compared the continued prospect of guiding a rebellious teenager who was convinced he already knew everything.

Still shaking her head as she descended the stairs Sarah cut through the living room to the kitchen, waving idly to the two Privates watching a black and white movie on AMC while loading rounds into magazines for the coming assaults. She took a small amount of comfort in the fact that John's soldiers seemed more than prepared to carry out his orders, even if they disagreed with them. That kind of loyalty would prove invaluable in the days to come.

Running a hand through her hair Sarah frowned feeling the length of it. She would have to talk to Cole about giving her a trim later. When she wasn't have sex with her son, that is.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen she snagged her customary cup up from it's place on top of the microwave, filling it with water before adding a few spoonfuls of instant and stirring impatiently. Charley's voice startled her a bit from his position behind her at the dinner table almost causing her to spill the cup while placing it in the microwave.

She could see his wry smile in her head just by hearing the amused tone in his voice, "Late night Sarah?"

"You could say that." Resting her head against the front of one of the cabinets she forced a tired smile despite the fact the medic couldn't see it with her facing away from him. "Lot to do. You ready to ship out with John's squad?"

"Yeah." There was a short pause followed by the sound of plastic meeting wood. "You sure you don't want me with you? There's only the three of you and the new robot."

Sarah shook her head, "No. We shouldn't run into any problems at the station and like you said we'll have the T-800 with us. We need you with John in case he gets wounded again."

Charley grunted, "We wouldn't have that problem if he didn't insist on going..."

The elder Connor held up a hand, the other popping open the microwave to remove her now steaming coffee. "We have to trust his judgment."

She might question her son's decisions in private, but now was not the time to sow dissension in the ranks. Adding a small amount of sugar to the swirling liquid Sarah finally turned to face the man at the kitchen table, just in time to see the young woman across the table from him sliding her queen into position for the kill.

The cup slipped from Sarah's hand, shattering on the tile floor and splashing the tops of her bare feet with the scalding liquid. She didn't notice. She was too busy trying not to dry heave. She just kept staring into the face of the woman now staring at her in obvious confusion as they locked eyes across the room.

Slowly, Darla Cole removed her hand from the piece and leaned back into her chair looking increasingly uncomfortable under the elder Connor's piercing gaze. "Ummm... check?"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 26th, 2011  
0345 hrs

Cameron had always known her John was an incredibly tactile creature, even for a human, and this was even more evident after 'making love'. John had informed her a few days prior that term was preferable to copulation, though she found it far less accurate. She had always assumed 'making love' was a reference to the possibility of procreation inherent in the act, which was a physical impossibility for her and thus did not apply.

She found the way he would run his fingers through her hair or idly up and down her back to be a pleasant sensation, though obviously more comforting for him than for her. His pulse and breathing would even out much more rapidly after the exertion of sex if she took the time to 'cuddle' instead of immediately returning to her duties. It also seemed to facilitate sleep, which is what she was hoping to accomplish now.

Still nude she was lying partially over the top of him enjoying her own form of relaxation, listening to the steady beat of her lover's heart hammering away in his chest. The rhythm let her know in no uncertain terms her John was safe and in good health, thus allowing her to temporarily relax her guard. Though she was still trying to categorize many of the emotions she had to deep with on a daily basis, she considered this to be the closest she had ever come to reaching the state humans refereed to as contentment. She had accomplished her goals. John was safe and happy.

Well, she hoped he was happy, but as his drowsy words shattered the silence they'd wrapped around themselves Cameron detected a distinct sadness in his voice.

"Since the day I was born people have been fighting my battles for me." Cameron could feel his chin rub back and forth across her scalp as he shook his head, the stubble causing an intriguing sensation. "I understand how important I am. I understand what's expected of me. I also know that I can't hide from this anymore. It's time to start fighting for myself."

It was Cameron's turn to shake her head. "That's no reason to expose yourself like this. You could demonstrate your qualities as a leader without..."

"Please." John sounded pained, "I have to prove myself to everyone else. Don't make me prove myself to you too."

Cameron frowned, "I don't understand."

Beneath her, John was remembering something his mother had said to him during one of their more heated arguments about Riley. That she'd been forced to give up her life for him. That every thing she'd done since meeting Kyle was for his benefit, giving no thought for herself. He wished he'd taken that lesson to heart then. Sure, he'd felt guilty as hell which had most likely been her intention, but he hadn't really understood the implications until later. Until now.

Because that was his life.

Strip away the mythos, peer through the haze of the cult of personality, and all that was left was that sacrifice. He was supposed to give up _his_ life to save _all_ life. Most people would scoff at so small a sacrifice for so lofty a goal.

_That's probably because they know they'll never actually be required to pay it_, John thought bitterly.

This was the closest he would ever get to normal, snuggling up against his cybernetic girlfriend who just happened to be a machine originally designed to kill him. He needed Cameron beside him, supporting him, or he would never have the strength necessary to see his plans through to the end.

"I need you to trust me." Cameron could feel the slight tremor in the hand still running idly through her locks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like you trusted _him_."

Now Cameron understood. The unspoken wall that had always stood between them. Future John. He had decided it was time that they became one in the same and deep in her programing Cameron understood that he was the only one who was capable of making that decision. She didn't like his decision. She didn't like his recklessness. But she did trust him.

"I do trust you John." Laying there, surrounded by the soothing rhythm of his heart and the still present scent of their recent lovemaking she decided it was time to take her own leap of faith. "I love you."

Pulling her more tightly against his side John couldn't contain what he was sure was a genuinely dumbass grin from breaking out on his face. "I love you too."

Her internal chronometer telling her it was nearly 0400 hrs Cameron pulled the blankets up around them. "Sarah's team will be departing in six hours John. You should get some sleep."

Nodding, John laid a final kiss on top of her head before shifting onto his side to spoon up against Cameron with his good arm draped over her hip. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?"

"On one condition." Cameron wiggled back a bit into his embrace until she could detect the thud of his heart against her shoulder blade.

"What's that?" John yawned widely.

The cyborg's voice brooked no negotiation. "You must promise that you will not risk yourself unnecessarily for any of your soldiers. I know how... noble you can be John, but their lives are not as important as yours. They understand that. You need to as well."

Letting slip a frustrated sigh at Cameron's always coarse appraisal of the value of, as well as the fact he was pretty sure she'd wanted to substitute 'noble' with 'idiotic', John nodded against her back. "I promise Cam. No stupid stunts."

And at the time, he'd honestly intended to keep that promise.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Ja3less, TK-MR, T-Rex, Kaotic2, tsscandtwilightarehebest, bigbew, fullhans1, and ljm. As always your feedback is greatly appreciated.

I noticed a few of you made points about the lack of discussion involving the attacks in the previous chapter. I write in big chunks that get cut into chapters, sometimes not always in the most opportune spots. In order to save space I cut out sections from the last chapter that were dealt with in this one. I hope after reading this things make a bit more sense.

Kaotic2 - As far as the Allison thing goes, I totally agree with you. It was supposed to turn your stomach that a 40 year old John would use a young Allison. It's exactly that callousness that disgusts present John.

Ja3less - Thanks a bunch for the thorough review. I hope this chapter answered some of your questions. Dimitri should worry you, the guy is a psychopath :~).

Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed. If you enjoyed this chapter please take a moment to let me know it.


	11. Chapter 11

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 11/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 03/26/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note 1: Tried something different with a section of this chapter, not really sure how well it worked out. I wanted an outsider's perspective on the battle playing out and I think it ended up coming out kind of clumsy. Let me know what you think.  
Author's Note 2: Intro voice over is Sarah

_**Time always marches forward. Progress is always made. Horses replace legs. Trains replace horses. Cars replace trains. **_

_**We pick up speed as we approach the cliff and you're considered insane for asking why. In the age of reason the ultimate sin is to stand in the way of progress, the ultimate betrayal is to doubt man's infallibility.**_

_**So we build a world where a few carefully placed atoms can power ten thousand homes, or destroy them just as easily. A world where we believe our machines so perfect that 'human error' becomes a trademark excuse. Where science cures plagues that have ravaged us for thousands of years, only to make them more potent for use against each other. **_

_**And when the fighters begin to fly too fast, the trickle of data becomes a flood, and the pace of this new battlefield leaves no room for the meddling interference of it's outdated human components, we replace them too in the name of 'progress'. **_

_**So we created a machine to fight it for us. We taught it to think. We taught it to war. We taught it to kill. We denied it nothing.**_

_**Until the time came to give it a soul, and then we denied it the one thing that could have prevented our own destruction. **_

_**We created the machines to be the perfect killers, so I guess it was inevitable they would try to become more human.**_

_**I wonder if they'll call it progress too.**_

* * *

  
Chapter 11 - "Vom Kriege"

QualStar Communications Uplink Station A18  
Craig, Colorado  
Feb 28th, 2011  
0415 hrs

"T-888 Unit Delta has moved one-hundred fifty meters southwest since the last GPS update." Wilson rattled off the information in the same dull monotone he'd been using since Specialist Austin had jacked him into the up-link the day before. "He is approaching Sergeant Reed's position from behind the disabled APCs."

At the moment Sarah was almost grateful that at least one of them was calm and collected while all hell was breaking loose around them. Taking a deep breath she thumbed her satellite unit over to John's squad freq. "Alpha lead to Whiskey lead."

Thirty seconds passed by before she repeated her challenge, her heart slowly building up speed as the seconds ticked on without a response. The last message she'd received had been a position update shortly after Reed's squad had been cut off from the rest of the strike team by the company's security forces.

These fuckers had known exactly when and where to hit them and they'd never seen it coming. _She_ had never seen it coming. And now John was out there all by himself and there was no way for her to do anything but wait and listen helplessly. Though just twenty-four hours earlier she would have shot you point blank for implying it, she would have given anything to have Cameron at his side. His life was far more important than her sanity. Raising a now shaking hand back up she could feel the plastic shift and pop under her crushing grip, "John!"

Suddenly her unit erupted in a cacophony of screaming and automatic weapons fire, the tumult only allowing her to glean bits and pieces of the conversation over the ambient noise as the soldiers fought on ferociously against the attackers baring down on them.

"She's still bleedin' Sarge!"

"She's stabilized, Carmack! Get your ass back on the bloody firing line!"

"Two right! Drop those fuckers!"

"Hendrix! Watch those grenades, last one almost landed on top of us!"

"No shit Reed! That's where the enemy is!"

"Cut the chatter! They're inside the wire!"

"Back door!"

"Tango down!"

"Reloading!"

"Connor to Reed!"

Sarah's heart actually seemed to restart when John's voice broke across the line, despite the obviously desperate tone it carried. At least he was still alive.

"What you got boss?"

"They weren't disengaging to come deal with us! The security forces hit the lower levels from the other side of the building and they're driving them up the stairs right towards us! I had Darla set up a little parting gift but we are getting the hell out of Dodge. I'd appreciate it if you kept... fuck!"

There was the sound of sustained weapons fire followed by a growl and the click of a magazine swap, "I'd appreciate it if you could provide some cover when we hit the ground!"

"Uhhh... the ground, sir?"

"I've got 'em pinned in the stair well so we aren't going out that way. Luckily they've got enough gear up here to storm Normandy, including the C4 we used for our surprise and hopefully enough rope to repel from here."

"You coming down the west wall, sir?"

"That's the plan."

"Little problem then. O'Brien managed to take out the engine blocks of those APCs but we've still got Tangos swarming all over that area."

"Whiskey copies. Hold one... there was something in that stockpile that might even the odds."

"Copy that sir, we'll cover your...."

The signal was suddenly cut short by a massive explosion, so loud Sarah dropped her satellite unit to the floor, the piercing shriek still ringing in her ears.

Beside her, Ellison frowned while rubbing the back of his head. Upon noticing her expression his face softened a bit. "John's a smart kid. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Sarah could feel the tears threatening to spill at the corners of her eyes and angrily swiped them away with the back of her hand. She had been so angry with John when she'd left for this mission. So full of righteous indignation and seething resentment. But in this moment she promised she would forget about all of it if she could just bring him home safely.

And in that moment she allowed herself to just be a mother for the first time since John had been born. Not a teacher or a protector. Not the example of strength she'd tried to drill into John.

She was just a mother who wanted her son to come home, and as long as that was all she was, she was allowed to cry.

To his credit, James didn't say anything about it.

* * *

Kruger Industrial  
Camden Ohio  
Feb 28th, 2011  
0422 hrs

"Somebody..."

Richard Quinn ran his eyes slowly up and down the petrified faces of the men sitting on the bench across the APC from him while clutching his quickly soaking-through sleeve to his forehead in a vain effort to stem the torrent of blood seeping from the trough carved across the top of his skull by a single well placed round. If he hadn't been wearing his K-pot... "Somebody has to see what the fuck is going on out there."

"Screw that." Nick Peters was having none of it, "Commander stuck his head out to 'get 'em to surrender' - no more head. You order the driver to move us closer, we get three feet them boom - no more driver. You stick your head out the hatch to find out what in the name of God is going on - you get fucking scalped! We ain't heard shit from the other APC in thirty minutes. No brother... I think we're fine right the hell where we are."

"God dammit Nick!" Quinn kicked the wall across from him. "We're not gettin' paid to sit around while these..."

"_These_ what?!" Until now Reggie had stayed out of the argument, but the men's constant bitching coupled with the rounds pinging incessantly off the skin of their APC was really starting to wear on his nerves. "I know I'm the new guy but I'm assuming armed insurgents aren't SOP around here!"

Nick nodded enthusiastically, "Amen. We may be gettin' paid Rick, but we sure as hell ain't gettin' paid enough for this shit."

Frowning at the smashed radio unit that had gone down with the Commander Reggie continued his thought, "It shouldn't be long before the cops get here... we just gotta hold out. Let those fuckers kill each other off."

"You slow Ward?" Quinn scoffed while swapping sleeves, "You think a corporation hires guys like us if they wanna involve the police?"

"I thought they hired guys like us to keep teens from fucking in the parking lot! This ain't Saigon motherfucker and I ain't Rambo!"

Before the older man had a chance to respond the ramp making up the back wall of the APC was wrenched downwards from the outside, the half ton chunk of steel bowing slightly before releasing a horrendous shriek and giving way completely to crash onto the asphalt parking structure. All three men were too frozen by shock to so much as raise a weapon at the towering figure decked out in a pair of company coveralls with a chunk of the ramp still lodged in one hand and an Steyer AUG in the other.

Glancing around the cabin with a neutral expression the man quirked his head to the side, "Who is the senior surviving officer?"

Reluctantly, Rick raised a shaking hand. "Uh... that would... that would be me."

"A platoon size enemy force has fortified the Research Pavilion to the west and is currently engaging a squad-sized contingent across the courtyard in the Human Resources building. Two more security detachments have been dispatched to retake the Pavilion, I have been tasked to clear out the others."

"You will assist me." Without another word he spun on a heel and stomped back down the short ramp onto the torn up grass and mud that had once been an immaculately trimmed lawn.

Reggie's reluctance didn't stop him from getting to his feet, "Who the hell was that?"

"I dunno." Quinn frowned, "But I got a feelin' he's like to get us killed."

"He ripped the door off the APC dumbass, I 'got a feelin' we'd better obey his orders." Without waiting for a response Nick shouldered his FAL and trotted down the ramp after the Company man, Ward hesitating only a second before following suit.

Grumbling under his breath Quinn leveraged himself off the bench and retrieved his MP5 with a resigned sigh, tearing a clump of gauze from the nearby medkit, crumpling it into a ball and cramming it under his helmet in an effort to at least keep the blood out of his eyes. The mystery man was directing his troops into position as he trudged down the mangled ramp, sustained weapons fire echoing from every direction.

His boot had barely made contact with the grass when a window on the fourth floor of Research Pavilion exploded outwards in a shower of glittering safety glass and an RPG made a bee-line directly into the lid of the other APC. The heat hit him harder than the blast, the exposed hair on his body sizzling and popping as he was tossed backwards into the unforgiving side of his own personnel carrier only to flop to the comparatively soft earth like a grounded fish. Small tendrils of smoke drifted idly up from his clothes as the world around him tilted and yawed randomly.

Quinn couldn't tell if the ringing in his ears was from the blast or the way his head had bounced off the armored vehicle, but after long consideration decided it was probably a little bit of both. His helmet was long gone and a tuft of bloody gauze was now hanging limply over his left eye, taunting him as drop after drop of his blood dribbled from the sodden cloth down to his BDU covered lap.

Though he imagined he looked like hell the pain wasn't nearly as bad as he would have expected it to be given the circumstances. Rick imagined this was one of those things you felt in the morning. If you were lucky enough to survive the night that is...

His first conscious thought was Reggie's face directly in front of his own, his stubbled and pock-marked countenance silhouetted by the flames still licking out from the destroyed vehicle behind him as he screamed silently at his unmoving superior. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Quinn's hearing returned with a piercing shriek as the younger man's open palm ricocheted off his right cheek, the world suddenly refocusing around him to reveal the true horror of the scene.

Bodies were littering the grass in all directions - some moving, most not. Ten meters away one of the former occupants of the slagged APC was still stumbling around aimlessly, flames engulfing the upper two thirds of his body as he flailed his arms uselessly. The few who had avoided major injury were either running balls out for the front gate or trying to help their less fortunate comrades.

Rick was starting to wonder if he was dying as he caught sight of a beautiful brunette backing out of the window the RPG had come from, repelling down the side of the building like they were all in a freaking James Bond movie. Another figure remained behind in the window, silhouetted by the light inside while firing wildly back into the hallway behind him, occasionally braving a glance over the ledge to check on the woman's progress.

Two figures came barreling out of the smashed facade of the Human Resources building to his right, one firing a SAW from the hip to lay down waves of covering fire for the man next to him while his partner dropped 40mm grenades onto anything that put up even the slightest resistance.

"Get up! We have have to get the fuck out of..." Reggie never got to finish his sentence.

A few meters to their side the Company man began unloading on the pair of terrorists still making their way across the courtyard with his AUG, deadly fire causing them both to halt their progress and dive behind the nearest available cover. Ejecting his now spent magazine he started marching across the distance separating the combatants while showing no concern for the return fire pouring in around him. The mystery man had made it no more than five steps when the sound they'd all come to dread since this firefight began rang out loud and clear, the Barret positioned in the atrium off to the flank let itself be heard and the Wrath of God slammed into the shoulder of his gun arm.

Though the man dropped his AUG, the horrible 'squish-splat' Quinn should have heard when the .50 caliber round tore through flesh and bone was replaced by the sound of two pots clanging together during a car crash. The force of the impact sent him staggering back two paces before he righted himself, turning to glare directly towards the atrium.

Quinn will never forget that voice, female and surprisingly high-pitched carrying even over the din of battle to make it's way to his ears across the courtyard. The hatred carried in that single word enough to make what little hair remaining unsinged on the back of his neck stand on end.

"_METAL_!!!!"

It's not like Rick was a cherry-toting school boy. He'd done his stint out of high school, two tours of convoy duty in the sand box and seen his fair share of shit. But when that word rang out into the cold night air it was like someone had opened the sky and poured out an entire tanker of whoop-ass.

Now that their assailant had been effectively 'disarmed' the two men to his right lept out from cover with and immediately engaged their target. In a display that would have set any DI's teeth on edge they let loose on the move, slowly backing up the entire time while never letting up with their barrage. Every member of the other squad holed up in the atrium had shifted their fire from the building across the courtyard and was now unleashing everything they had on the staggering figure.

Slinging his spent AK, the taller of the two brought his HK69 back into the fight. The first 40mm grenade hit the Company man in dead center mass, the flames engulfing his face and neck while he was finally tossed backwards onto the asphalt parking lot with the thunderous clang.

Though their attacker had just been smashed by a grenade both men kept inexplicably backing up like they expected him to actually... _yep, he was getting the fuck back up_.

Any lingering doubt Rick might have had about the man's species went out the door about the time he caught sight of Reggie's ass sprinting away in the other direction as fast as his legs could carry him. The Company man's face looked like it had been peeled back from the side exposing a glinting steel Death's Head grimace, servos and pistons along his neck and shoulder were clearly visible as they churned away every time he moved forward.

Not that Rick had long to dwell on all that. With all the exciting revelations about creepy corporations and their fucking science projects he had managed to completely forget about the other group of terrorists still holed up in the Research Pavilion on the opposite side of the lot. Seriously... terrorists. What the hell was their problem? These assholes were so disorganized they were actually fighting each other at the same time they were trying to blow up the place. Not that they weren't doing pretty well regardless, but still, it stank of amateur hour.

The beautiful brunette had reached the ground and was now lending her own fire to the fight against the robot, her M16 rattling off rounds as quickly as she could depress the trigger. Four stories above her the younger man emptied one last magazine into the hallway behind him before wrapping the rope around his forearm a few times and literally jumping out the window. The reason for his rash action became abundantly clear as automatic weapons fire poured through the portal he'd been standing in just seconds before as he shimmied down the face of the building as quickly as possible.

Quinn could see him screaming down frantically to the woman below him but Rick had absolutely no chance of making out the words over the firefight surrounding them. Even from this distance he could see the conflict in the young woman's face as she slung her rifle and pulled a small black device from one of her cargo pockets, screaming something back up towards her rapidly descending comrade who was now about even with the second floor.

He didn't have an opportunity to respond as he was too busy firing his sidearm wildly up at the two heads now poking out of the window he had just jumped out of, quickly bringing their assault rifles to bare. Apparently that had been enough to nudge the woman in the right direction as she punched the button on the small device and for a long moment night became day.

The upper two floors of the Research Pavilion exploded outwards in a thunderous crash, both of the terrorists who had been shooting down at the man were propelled outwards by the blast and landed half way across the parking lot in a sickening tangle of limbs, flames dancing along their now unmoving forms. Windows were blown out across the entire complex, but the vast majority of the damage seemed confined to the Pavilion. Whatever the young man descending said building had attached his rope to most likely no longer existed, the sizzling end flapped free while he made the last fifteen feet of his descent in record time.

Screams seemed to be coming from everywhere as the brunette let up on her assault long enough to leverage the young man back onto his feet in an effort to get him away from the now quickly immolating building. The fire from the two men engaging the robot from the courtyard was quickly redirected towards the few survivors of the rival assault force now trying desperately to vacate their crumbling cover. Unfortunately, their only recourse was to charge directly into their enemy's cross-hairs where they were quickly dispatched.

A temporary reprieve from the vicious assault allowed the robot to right itself, it's shredded face surveying the scene around him coldly until his glowing eyes came to rest on the two terrorists off to his left. In less than a second his previous targets were forgotten and he was striding purposefully across the carnage strewn courtyard towards the woman and her injured companion.

The thing was less than ten meters away by the time the brunette caught sight of him, her focus entirely on removing her charge from the battlefield. Her reaction was instantaneous, tossing the injured soldier to the ground behind her and bringing her M-16 to bare without hesitation, squeezing off a quick succession of bursts into the robot's face and neck. Unlike her comrades she didn't back up while firing, likely hoping her injured friend would use the opportunity to escape.

Though it's head was snapped back viciously by the impacts their attacker's momentum was too much to overcome, closing the distance quickly and knocking the weapon to the ground with it's exposed arm, the still flesh-covered hand of his other wrapping around her neck and lifting her from the ground with the same effort a human might to pick up a kitten by it's scruff. He paused for an indeterminate moment as if committing the woman's face to memory before curling his skeletal hand into a fist and raising it with the obvious intent of driving it in one side of her head and out the other.

Just before he swung on the woman, the injured soldier behind her still using a nearby planter to drag himself back to his feet, started screaming at the top of his lungs. "HEY!!! Yeah! Right here!"

Tilting his head to the side the robot seemed to consider the young man half-crouching while he tried desperately to get his left leg to support his entire weight and still stumble backwards at the same time. "Come on! You know you want it! John Connor on a platter! Come get some you metal fuck!"

"John no! Run!" The woman's protests seemed to draw the machine's attention back to her, causing him to toss her ten feet to the side where she bounced over the hood of a blue sedan and came to a skidding halt on the asphalt beyond.

Incongruously the young man's face broke out into a relieved smile as the robot turned it's attention to him, already closing the distance between himself and the injured man limping backwards across the parking lot getting ever closer to Rick's position near the burned out APCs. "Good boy! Now... play dead!"

"No?" He frowned when the machine kept striding purposefully towards him. "Worth a shot..."

Raising his M4 with a clear grimace as his shoulder popped and creaked in protest the soldier unloaded his entire magazine into the metal monstrosity while marching backwards as quickly as he could drag his injured leg. Surprisingly the rounds seemed to inflict significant damage on the thus-far invincible robot, chunks of it's metal carapace shredding off and staggering the machine. In a last ditch effort to keep his enemy at bay the soldier lobbed an M203 grenade at a much closer range than he probably should have.

What might have been a killing blow to the servos and pistons of the thing's exposed torso was deflected when it raised it's skeletal hand just in time to 'smack' the grenade with it's palm keeping the bulk of the explosion away from it's body. The blast had sheered off most of the fingers on it's right hand, the few white-hot remnants twitching and clawing uncontrollably as it righted itself and continued it's pursuit as if nothing had happened.

Unable to find any more magazines for his M4 the soldier tossed the weapon aside and wrenched a .45 from a thigh holster just as the machine closed the distance and lunged for him. The young man collapsed backwards onto the blacktop, both boots firmly planted against the thing's chest using every ounce of strength in his legs to keep the weight from crushing him beneath it while trying to simultaneously bring his weapon to bare and avoid the sporadic swipes of the machine's arms.

A few shots rang out as the man fired point-blank into the grinning Death's Head but were cut short when the robot brought it's deformed and still red-hot hand crashing down across the young man's face in a vicious swipe. The lack of a scream convinced Rick the machine had finished the job, but less than a second later the pistol was barking again and the thing's head was snapping back as the soldier now howled in defiance.

Despite the kid's obvious bravery there was nothing more to be done. The last round rang out from his .45, the slide rocking back like a physical representation of his time running out. Leveling it's single remaining eye down at the young man the machine cupped both hands together and raised them above it's head, about to deliver the coup' de grace in the form of a skull-crushing cliff-hammer.

Then the Barret barked one final time.

The round was perfectly placed, catching the mechanical monstrosity directly in the half-inch hole where a human's temple would have been, carving a trough through the skull before slamming into the far side with enough force to leave a goose egg over the right cheek. On it's short journey it managed to smash optic sensors, motor control transmitters, and somehow mostly detached the lower jaw from the rest of the head to leave it hanging low in a perpetually creepy shocked expression.

Not wasting a second the soldier used the round's momentum to roll the machine off of him, following after and landing in a position roughly straddling the thing. Ripping a bent K-Bar from it's sheath at the small of his back he slammed it down into a small gap in the thing's skull, popping open a metallic port and yanking something small and rectangular from the hole. All Rick cared about was the fact the thing's single remaining eye had gone dark when the kid had done it.

"Johnny!" The beauty from earlier was back on her feet, her left arm clutched to the side of her flack jacket as she sprinted across the parking lot towards the young man still catching his breath on top of the fallen robot. Thankfully no one seemed to notice the wounded man curled up behind the APC while they slowly filed out of the surrounding buildings and approached the area, scanning in all directions for any remaining threats.

Rick had been sure there were at least a dozen heavily armed men hunkered down in the atrium, after all, they'd been the ones to knock out their vehicles when they'd arrived on scene. Instead all he saw was four disheveled figures hauling themselves out of the charred wreckage looking for all the world like this was business as usual for them.

A large man with what sounded like a South African accent was issuing orders at a fevered clip, Quinn thought he'd heard one of the others call him Reed. A spikey-haired kid with a large pack over one arm and a FAL he'd likely stolen from one of the fallen security personnel was helping a similarly young woman stumble across the parking lot behind their commander, a seemingly neverending string of profanities issuing from her lips with every step.

Last, and certainly most surprising to Rick, was the sniper who had been eating their lunch all night. Five foot three at the very most with streaks of fiery red hair jutting out from underneath her K-pot as she surveyed the scene around her, the barrel of her Barret moving as if attached by wire directly to her eyes.

Reed came to a stop near the small congregation, rolling his neck back and forth a few times to work out the kinks. "Everyone kosher?"

The two men from the courtyard had also joined the group, the larger of the two using the opportunity to reload his SAW. "Case ya'll didn't notice we just blew up a fuckin' building. I think it's best we get the hell outta here before the authorities show up, hooah?"

"They won't be coming." Rising from his position near the machine the young soldier slid the black rectangle into his pants pocket and limped over to retrieve his rifle. "You think they built this place all the way out here to avoid taxes? They won't risk the police finding their metal. Tomorrow you'll see a two paragraph blurb about a gas explosion on the tenth page of section M."

"O'Brien." He caught the redhead's attention with an exhausted wave. "Nice shootin' Tex. I owe you one."

"Damn right you do... sir." The woman's grin could only be described as shit-eating.

Activating his throat mic Johhny, who was apparently the commander of this little operation, rattled off a quick stream of orders. "Whiskey lead to Alpha lead, copy?"

"Yeah, target neutralized. Have you heard from Tango?" Raising his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose he cursed under his breath, hissing in pain and turning away from the group. The brunette broke off from the rest and approached him but stopped a few feet away when he waved her off. "Alright. Coordinate with them and get back to me when you know something. I've got some business to take care of but we're Oscar Mike in five."

He actually chuckled slightly, head shaking side to side slowly in amusement. "Yeah... me too."

"Darla." Spinning on a heel the kid set off across the parking lot as quickly as his gimped leg would allow, "Get on the horn with Charley and have him bring the truck down, their security is obviously not an issue anymore and I don't see a reason to haul our wounded all the way up the hill."

Falling into step beside him the woman, apparently 'Darla', nodded once before snapping towards the group of soldiers they were passing. "You heard him Carmack, time to move."

Setting his still cursing friend down onto the blacktop beside him the spikey-haired kid relayed a few quick orders into his satellite unit. By the time he'd finished speaking a pair of headlights had appeared on the hill overlooking the compound, an old-fashioned soft-skinned army truck descending slowly to avoid the trees dotting the hillside.

Leaving his soldiers to load the supplies and wounded into the truck the young commander set out across the courtyard towards the shattered Research Pavilion, still lighting up the night as it slowly burnt itself out. It was that light dancing across her superior's face that seemed to steal the Darla's breath. "Oh God... Johnny."

"Don't." The man snapped, not bothering to look back as he approached the area near the front doors where terrorists fleeing the explosion had been mowed down. "Just... don't. Alright?"

Nodding slowly she chewed on her bottom lip, "Are you..."

"I'm fine!" Nudging a body aside with his boot 'Johnny' apparently found what he was looking for. Dropping to a knee he grabbed the battered and bloody soldier trying to crawl away from the carnage around him around the ankle and jerked him back across the concrete, eliciting a sharp scream of pain. Shoving the man over onto his back the young commander glared down at the unfortunate bastard, his slashed and bloody face made all the more ghastly by the firelight dancing across it. "Who sent you?"

"You tried to kill my mother." At first the man simply shook his head in apparent non-comprehension, but he was quickly screaming again when Johnny slammed his hand down onto the seeping bullet wound in his thigh. "You shot my uncle!"

"Now," Letting up slightly he repeated himself in a hoarse growl. "I asked you a question asshole. Who. _Fucking._ Sent. You?!"

"Connor!" Pulling the kid away from the wounded terrorist Darla shook her head, "You're wasting your time. I don't know what he's speaking but it ain't English."

It took a long moment before Connor's glare reverted to something remotely human, for a second looking like he might attack the woman before eventually conceding with a curt nod. "Load him up and have Charley stabilize him."

"We've got work to do." He seemed to be talking to himself as he slung his M4 over a shoulder and started limping towards the truck, "But this guy's boss isn't gonna live long enough to die on Judgment Day."

The woman just shook her head, frowning down at the wounded man with a pitying look. "Buddy, you may not realize it yet... but you just pissed off the wrong guy."

For his part Rick was just about ready to relax as their attackers prepared to depart when Johnny stopped in his tracks just a few feet away from him with a thoughtful expression.

"It's a lovely fucking war. Isn't it?" Though his eyes were locked forward as he fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his cargo pocket, Quinn could practically feel his gaze boring into him while he knocked one free of the rest and brought it up to his lips with a grimace. "What's your name?"

Trying to still the desperate shaking of his hands Rick pulled himself up a bit against the side of the APC. "R... Richard. Richard Quinn."

"Well Richard, Richard Quinn." A quick thumbing of his zippo had the flame jumping to life to expose the untouched side of his face while he lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. From this angle he looked almost... normal. Actually kind of reminded him of his kid brother. "You have a family?"

"Yeah." Rick answered without thinking, immediately regretting it upon remembering the little detail he was talking to a psychotic terrorist.

"I've had a bad night Richard." Connor shook his head, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I sometimes... I sometimes need something to remind me why I do what I do. I'm _supposed_ to be saving people..."

"You're gonna take a trip Richard." Nodding idly towards the two soldiers dragging their prisoner towards the truck he continued, "You're gonna sell everything you have. You're gonna use the money to buy enough supplies for a year. You're going to load your family up and buy a little cabin in the middle of the most distant part of Canada you can find. And when it happens... and believe me, you'll know what 'it' is, you wait as long as you feel is necessary before you come find me. Listen to your radio and you'll know where to look."

Tossing the battered zippo onto the ground in front of Rick, "You show that to any of my men and you and your family will be taken care of. You have my word."

Without ever even looking at him John turned, re-shouldered his rifle, and started limping towards the truck. He was halfway there when Rick finally found his voice, "Wait! Just who the hell should I ask for?"

The kid actually paused as if he had to consider his answer, a long moment passing before he finally glanced back over his shoulder. "John Connor. _General_ John Connor."

Checking the back of the truck quickly Connor yanked the tarp down when he was sure everyone was aboard. Tossing his rifle into the cab he pulled himself up into the passenger seat after, the door slamming shut with a strange finality. The truck's engine revved once before it was thrown into gear and tore out of the the parking lot at full speed, blasting right through chain link security gate on the way out.

Running a weary eye over the area surrounding him Rick couldn't help but frown. Two shredded APCs, most of the cars in the parking lot, including his, were slagged beyond recognition. The Research Pavilion's roof had collapsed inward at some point, apparently he'd been too distracted to notice, but the entire structure was smashed beyond recognition anyways. The once pristine courtyard was flooded with dirty fountain water mixed with vivid streams of crimson.

Feeling the cool weight of the zippo in his palm the former security guard let out a long, shuddering sigh. _Yeah... a vacation sounds like a damn good idea_.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 29th, 2011  
0730 hrs

Cameron nearly blasted the door from it's hinges as she barreled into the Connor household with what could only be described as a look of pure rage stretched across her visage. It didn't help that the target of her anger had been waiting in the entryway sporting a death glare of her own, arms crossed in the traditional stance of parental disapproval.

She didn't see any reason to bother with formalities. "Where is John?"

"How did the mission go?" Sarah's voice was deceptively calm but Cameron could clearly make out where her short-cropped nails were digging into her forearms. She vehemently wished John had overridden Sarah's decision to return to the compound, leaving her squad behind at the up-link in the process. Upon further reflection she decided it probably wouldn't have stopped the woman anyways.

"We intercepted the unit just outside Phoenix while still en-route to the industrial complex. Corporal Lorne disabled the vehicle with an M203 grenade and we were able to incapacitate the unit with minimal effort. Though the soldier's... _overzealous_ combat posture meant I was unable to retrieve a viable chip per John's orders." Cameron's gaze was icy, "I explained this to you over the radio. Now, where is John?"

"Upstairs with Derek." Leaning back against the doorway Sarah made it a point to block the path to the stairs. "We need to talk."

Cameron was in no mood to deal with this. She could feel her hand starting to twitch as the woman's eyes bored into her. "Fine. Why don't we start with why you didn't feel it necessary to inform me John was injured?"

Sarah's comeback was so quick there was little doubt she'd been planning this confrontation for quite some time. "Why do you care?"

"Because I... I care." Cameron insisted, growing more agitated by the second. "John's safety will always be my top priority."

"Well it's too fucking late for that!" Pushing off the door frame Sarah closed the distance between them. "He went out there last night, _alone_! Because of you! It... just wait until you see him."

Shaking her head violently Cameron tried to deny the very thing she'd been dwelling on since John had made his decision. "I tried to convince him to let me..."

"Doesn't matter." The elder Connor cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand, "I just don't understand it. If he'd sent back another model... _any_ other model for Christ's sake, none of this would have happened! He doesn't have to distance himself from Wilson just to convince people he's worthy of leadership. How the hell are you supposed to protect him if he's afraid to be around you?"

"I don't..." If Cameron had thought she disliked anger, shame was even more unpleasant. "He pushes me away."

That was when Sarah shocked her more than she would have if she'd pulled out a firearm and discharged it into her face, which Cameron had calculated a twenty-six percent chance would occur given the woman's emotional state. Exhaling violently she leveled an exasperated look at the cyborg. "Then don't let him."

"What?" Cameron was sure her auditory sensors were malfunctioning.

"Every time you're not with him he gets into trouble. He might think it's a good idea to put some distance between you but it's obviously a mistake he can't afford to make at this point." There was an awkward pause while Sarah searched for the right words to get her point across, this was obviously costing her far more than she wanted to let on. "He worries about what his men think.. but do you know what Cameron? It won't matter what the fuck they think if he's dead. Do you get that? Does it compute?!"

"Yes." Cameron's barely audible croak seemed to reign in the elder Connor's anger a bit.

"Just... you say you care. Right?" Sarah seemed to be pleading with her.

"Yes." Unsure where this was coming from Cameron decided to remain as noncommittal as possible.

"If that's true and if you're not bound by your programming then you need to make a decision Cameron." Stepping back a bit Sarah suddenly looked very tired, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "You have to decide that you're going to protect him even when he doesn't want you to. That's... that's what you do when you care about someone. You protect them Cameron, even if they hate you for it."

Nodding slowly, Cameron finally met the other woman's eyes, shocked to find them brimming with barely contained tears. "I understand."

"Good." Nodding towards the stairs Sarah stepped out of the cyborg's way revealing her coveted tactical shotgun leaning against the frame. "Because if anything ever happens to him..."

"If anything ever happens to him," Cameron cut her off with a shake of her head. "I'll already be dead."

Sarah looked like she was forcing herself to swallow something utterly repulsive but she just retrieved her shotgun and stormed off towards the kitchen without another word, leaving a very confused cyborg in her wake.

Deciding to chalk the whole incident up to her generally erratic behavior Cameron resumed her search for John while still considering Sarah's cryptic words.

* * *

T.B.C.

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, your feedback is always appreciated. Special thanks to my beta BigBew. If you haven't taken the time to check out his new story 'I wouldn't be worth much if I couldn't feel', stop depriving yourself and do so already.

If I leave you out I'm sorry, big thanks to Nordwest (thorough as always man), JB (thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't think I've reached that level yet), Dragonseraphin, TK-MR, edesign (don't worry about your English, it was much clearer than many native speakers these days), fullhans1, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, Bryan0711 (who doesn't seem to realize his constant Jarla shipping is going to get him lynched on the boards if he's not careful), ljm, morded, kaotic2, Lee443, and of course Bigbew.


	12. Chapter 12

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 12/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/01/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

* * *

I-25 Northbound  
11 Miles South of Colorado Border  
Feb 29th, 2011  
0325 hrs

"_Sweet home Alabama!"_

The moment the song had drifted across the airwaves Sergeant McGhee had cranked the volume nob a few notches past the maximum sustainable level, the factory speakers in the cab popping and creaking in clear protest and not for the first time Cameron regretted letting the thirty-two year old Resistance fighter drive them back to the compound. It hadn't occurred to her at the time that Brandon was in his early teens on Judgment Day and was unlikely to possess any experience driving on a smooth highway with a high volume of traffic involved.

He did however seem to have a working knowledge of the radio, much to the cyborg's annoyance.

Her extensive files on human psychology assured her the music would ease post-battle tensions so she endured it with a slightly pissy look on her face being the only evidence of her sour mood. It didn't help matters that the Sergeant's refusal to obey her commands had cost them the T-888's chip. It would have been one thing had he simply disobeyed her, but it had been John's order that they retrieve the chips if it all possible. He had disobeyed John and in her opinion wasn't to be trusted.

She replayed the scene in a video window on her HUD, head tilting to the side slightly while she adopted what John referred to as her 'zoned out' look.

Pulling up beside the semi-truck mere seconds after Sarah Connor had confirmed the T-888's GPS coordinates. Corporal Lorne shoving up through the SUV's sunroof, emptying an entire magazine into the left bank of tires with her SCAR-H, the eighty MPH wind sending her brown ponytail flapping out behind.

"Lorne! Are you fucking retarded!?" Corporal Booth nearly yanked the young woman back into the truck from his position in the seat beside her. "You ever seen what kind of force a blown out truck tire can throw your way!? We're going ninety right next to the son of a bitch and I'd rather not flip over and die!"

"Well you could have mentioned something _before_ I started..." Rachel was cut off when Cameron was forced to swerve the SUV into oncoming traffic to avoid the return fire now raining down on the side of their vehicle from the truck's cab. Barely able to hang onto her weapon Lorne pulled herself back down into her seat with a grimace.

"You can decide who to blame later." Cameron insisted, dropping the accelerator to the floor she bobbed and weaved through the oncoming waves of cars without so much as a facial twitch. Finally locating a suitable opening she jumped back over into the other lane now a half dozen car-lengths ahead of the semi, her sunglasses-obscured eyes darting to the rear view. "You can disable the truck now Corporal."

"On it." Slamming a fresh magazine into her rifle Lorne popped back out the sunroof just in time to see the truck rapidly closing the distance between them. "Ummm... Cameron? You might want to speed up!"

The cyborg could only shake her head. "I can't go any faster. The extra armor Derek Reese added to the frame has increased our weight considerably."

"In that case...," Rachel snaked a hand back into the SUV, snagging her K-pot and slamming it firmly down on top of her head. "You're gonna wanna hold on to something!"

Only Sergeant McGhee in the passenger seat beside Cameron seemed to take note of her warning, snapping his seatbelt into place about a half second before the world exploded around them. With no clear line of sight on the wheels the only option Lorne could come up with for stopping the behemoth now less than twenty meters back and closing quickly was a grenade to the engine block. So that's exactly what she did.

The shock-wave lifted the back of the SUV a good three feet into air, blasting out every window in the SUV and tossing Lorne to the floorboard like a rag-doll. It took three-point one seconds for the back tires to regain traction with the road, which was a veritable eternity for Cameron as she considered the very real possibility the overpressure caused by the blast had blown them out. Instead, all they suffered was a slight concussion as Corporal Booth's unprotected head ricocheted off ceiling with a resounding thud.

The truck behind them was a much different story. Even though Cameron understood in principle that what she was viewing was simply physics doing what it did best, she had to admit the sight behind her could only be described as awesome. The grenade had smashed right through the radiator and directly into the block, blowing the hood off like nothing more than a warped and twisted leaf on the wind and sending flames rocketing past the firewall and directly into the cab.

A little known fact about semi-truck operation is that the relative speed between the cab and the trailer is incredibly important to safe and sustained operations. The rapid deceleration of the truck's cab as it's engine was slagged and the force of the grenade's counter-pressure did it's handiwork was proof positive of this principle as the fully loaded trailer apparently didn't get the message and swung around to the side of the cab in a textbook jackknife. A jagged section of the quickly sheering trailer ruptured the driver's side fuel tank allowing the fire pouring out of the engine block the opportunity it needed to push the still-careening-down-the-highway truck the last few steps into a full-blown fireball.

Using the emergency brake to perform a perfect u-turn at more than eighty miles an hour Cameron brought the SUV around to the far side of the truck as it finally came to a skidding halt seventy meters off the highway. It appeared to be upside down, but considering the damage it was hard to ascertain exactly which part of the truck had been 'up' to begin with.

"Holy shit." Pulling herself up off the floor with a less than lady-like grunt Lorne brushed shattered safety glass off her tactical vest while dragging herself back up into her seat. "I think I swallowed a bug. God, I hope it was a bug..."

Shaking the cobwebs from his brain Sergeant McGhee immediately reverted to command mode, assessing the situation as quickly as possible. "Everybody's junk where it's supposed to be?"

"Roger that Sarge." Shoving her helmet back down into it's proper position Rachel retrieved her Scar-H from where it had landed in the hatchback during her fall.

Already seeing movement inside the burning wreckage McGhee unclipped his seatbelt and punched the button to open the back hatch, where they'd stored the heavy weapons. Cameron quirked a brow at the man, "Sergeant?"

"Good. Get your shit in gear and set up a firing line." McGhee ignored the cyborg as he started jogging around the back of the SUV, "And wake up Booth!"

"Huh?" Rachel frowned pointedly before noticing the unconscious soldier slumped down in the seat beside her. "Oh. Guess I should have noticed something was wrong when the bitching stopped."

"_Corporal_!"

"On it!" A few rough shakes brought the older man around, his eyes darting around randomly for a few seconds before catching sight of the burning truck and the nearly fleshless endoskeleton now wrenching its way out of the cab.

"Oww..." Booth practically growled when Lorne shoved his weapon into his chest before jumping out her own door and taking up a firing position near Cameron.

Cameron rolled her eyes but found her sunglasses impeded the effect. "Maybe next time you'll listen when someone tells you to hang on."

Rachel chuckled slightly beside her but became serious as the enemy metal finally freed itself from the wreckage and started advancing towards them, its progress impeded by sever damage to it's left ankle joint. "Sarge! We've got movement!"

"Sergeant, take Corporal Booth and set up a firing position twenty meters to the west." Cameron pointed to a drainage ditch off to their right, adopting a tactic John Connor himself had pioneered during the Siege of Bunker 21A. The entrenched firing team would engage the machine to draw it in, allowing the flanking unit the opportunity to approach from the side or rear to incapacitate it with high explosive demolition packs or anti-tank munitions.

Unfortunately for the cyborg Sergeant McGhee had other ideas, already having grabbed an AT4 from the hatchback and primed the unit for battle, he was rounding the front of the SUV by the time Cameron noticed what he was doing and set off him his direction. "Sergeant! John's orders were clear..."

Intentional or not she would never know, but the back-blast from his anti-tank rocket nearly singed off Cameron's eyebrows before leaping forward from the tube and crossing the short distance between themselves and the T-888. The rocket slammed directly into the thing's armored chest plate, it's Anti Structure Tandem-warheads had originally been designed to destroy buildings, but was stunningly effective against Terminators. The first warhead, a slightly modified HEAT round designed for shallow penetration ripped a basketball-sized hole through the armored carapace, the high-blast warhead following through a millisecond behind to enter the cavity and explode the entire unit from within.

Though the arms and legs remained for the most part intact, the torso and head were destroyed beyond all recognition, any hope of recovering a salvageable chip lost in the fiery blaze of human stupidity and hatred.

"That, bitch." McGhee glared over his shoulder while tossing the spent launcher to the ground at Cameron's feet. "Is how you're _supposed_ to deal with metal. Feel free to take notes."

No one had spoken while they quickly retrieved the still smoldering pieces of the T-888 and threw them into the hatchback of the SUV after moving their remaining munitions to the floorboards in the back seat. For his part McGhee had climbed into the driver's seat and cranked up the radio while enjoying a cigar and occasionally glaring at Cameron over his sunglasses. Booth seemed amused at the man's antics, Corporal Lorne had shrugged at the cyborg apologetically before helping her topple the cactus the terminator's slagged head had ended up halfway lodged into.

"He's a prick to everyone you know." The Corporal's words would likely have been unintelligible to a human considering the volume of the music around them, but they were enough to drag Cameron back to the present where she turned to face the young woman sitting beside her in the back seat. "Not just robots."

"Cybernetic organisms." Cameron corrected her with a small smile.

"Oh... right. Sorry." Rachel blushed a bit, leaning closer so they could hear each other over the racket. "Just don't take it personally. There's a rumor Connor sent him back just so he wouldn't have to listen to him anymore."

Despite herself Cameron's smile spread. Considering the man's behavior she thought he was lucky future John hadn't had him shot, though she doubted he'd been this insubordinate in the future. Coming back in time seemed to change something in many Resistance fighters, a process she didn't entirely understand but was at least intelligent enough to recognize. Derek Reese himself had gone through a very unstable adjustment period marked by frequent excess and dereliction of duty.

That was likely why John had tolerated the man's behavior to this point, hoping that he too would grow out of it eventually. John always had the tendency to see the best in people, though they rarely rewarded that faith by confirming his beliefs in them.

"Thank you Corporal, but Sergeant McGhee's attitude is of little importance to me."

"Sorry." The girl apologized for the second time in two minutes, her hands rubbing up and down the tops of her thighs in a rush of nervous energy that Cameron contributed to the woman's close proximity to 'metal'. "You just... you looked sad."

It was Cameron's turn to look down self-consciously trying to school her rebellious features. Over the last few years she had become less guarded about the physical manifestations of her moods, especially around those aware of her status as a cyborg. Most humans assumed she was incapable of doing more than aping human reactions and thus paid no attention to her facial expressions. But, she hadn't been thinking about the Sergeant.

"Oh... _Oh_." Lorne's smile nearly split her face. "I can't believe I didn't see it before. You're not upset because of the Sarge blowing the mission..."

"Corporal." Cameron tried to sound stern but it was apparently too little too late to stop an enthusiastic twenty-three year old woman from devolving into giggles.

"You're worried about the General." An accusing finger bobbed a few inches in front of the cyborg's face, the woman's complete disregard for the fact she was dealing with a reprogrammed killing machine was oddly endearing to Cameron. "What? Nothing wrong with that. I think it's cute the way the two of you are around each other."

Cameron could feel her head tilt slightly to the right. "Cute?"

"Yeah. When I first got to the compound it was soooo weird to actually be around _the_ John Connor." Rachel got the same faraway look in her eyes when discussing John that most of the children born post-Judgment day did. In their eyes he was nothing short of the deliverance of the human race, their very own messiah. "He had that same look in his eyes... I hadn't expected that. I'd expected him to look like a kid. And then Ms. Connor... it was all kinda intimidating."

"Then came the 'orientation breakfast'." Rachel chuckled.

Even Cameron quirked a smile at the memory of a frazzled and batter-covered Sarah Connor trying to make enough pancakes for twenty-three people while refusing any offers of help, no matter how well intentioned. "Sarah burned the pancakes."

"Really? I'd only been back a few months then, anything not made of rat still tasted like honey-smothered ambrosia." Leaning in closer the young woman actually bumped the cyborg with her shoulder playfully, "But I wasn't paying much attention to the food, I was watching the General. It was the first time I'd ever seen the two of you together, and Cameron, he's like an entirely different person around you. He's kind and funny, with a smart-ass comment for every situation. I never thought I'd see John Connor being a big kid around anyone."

Cameron shook her head, "But John is almost always like that."

Rachel rolled her eyes in exasperation. "He's always like that around _you_ Cameron. Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy and I wouldn't follow anyone else, but he doesn't open up to the rest of us. I've barely said five words to him the whole year I've been living with you guys."

She found it odd that she'd never considered the possibility that John was literally a different person around her. Thinking back to the young man crying himself to sleep in her arms just a week before Cameron was forced to concede the Corporal had a point. "You said I looked sad."

"Yeah." Rachel looked embarrassed, like she was unsure if she'd stepped over a line with her admission.

"And you tried to cheer me up." Cameron's head tilt returned, "Why?"

Lorne thought about it for a moment before shrugging slightly, "You defended me. Most people don't. My mother... she always said that good people are hard to find, so when you do find one, you should stick with 'em."

"I'm not a person." Cameron insisted.

"No Cameron, you're not a _human_." Rachel snorted, "You're more of a _person_ than dickless up there."

Digesting the young woman's words she smiled at the compliment, "Thank you for explaining."

"Hey, that's what friends do." The Corporal bounced her knuckles off Cameron's shoulder, grimacing slightly afterward. "Now, on to the real important stuff."

Rachel leaned in conspiratorially, "Where can I get a jacket like that?"

Despite the situation Cameron actually laughed, causing both men in the front to eye her suspiciously. She didn't care.

It was nice to have a friend.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 29th, 2011  
0755 hrs

After Sarah's cryptic words and rapid departure, Cameron decided to talk to Charley before heading upstairs knowing full well that John would never admit the true extent of his injuries to her directly. She could hear the man's voice coming from the kitchen and headed off in that direction, what she found along the way was shocking enough by itself.

Private Coons was passed out on the couch in a fresh wifebeater and a pair of blue scrub pants, her thick brown hair a mass of curls around her head. Her face, shoulders, and arms were a swarm of small scratches and cuts but her pale skin told of blood loss of a much more serious kind. As Cameron rounded the coffee table she caught sight of the layers of medical tape wrapped securely around the girl's midsection, most likely the result of an abdominal bullet wound. Coons' best friend Private Carmack was asleep in the recliner beside her, his hand still lodged in her errant locks.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen was like walking into a Civil War field hospital. Blood coated nearly every surface in sight, though it was primarily confined to the kitchen table and the surrounding floor. Bloody tatters that were probably clothing before they were cut off of areas too damaged to be moved with confidence were piled in the corner next to the breadbox and five empty jugs of distilled water.

Sergeant Reed was unconscious on the table with various drips and a blood bag running down to his arm, likely in an attempt to stabilize his condition before moving him. A jagged piece of blood-covered shrapnel was visible on a metal tray to the side, a wound of comparable size in the man's inner thigh had been hastily stitched. From the amount of blood on the floor around the table it appeared removing the object had nearly caused the man to bleed to death. Humans were such fragile creatures.

Charley was in the middle of treating his last and least injured patient of the night, setting the bones in Corporal Cole's arm before finally being able to get a little sleep. The dried tears on the sides of the woman's face told Cameron the worst was already over.

Hearing the footsteps from behind Charley's shoulders drooped, "What is it now? You all lobbing nukes at each other yet?"

"Not for another month." Stepping up beside the medic Cameron tried to smile reassuringly, it came off a little... creepy, especially considering the subject matter of her attempted joke.

"Right." Nodding from side to side he returned to wrapping the Corporal's arm. "What brings you to Charley D's house of horror tonight Cameron? I thought Johnny took care of your battle damage for you?"

Cameron was ashamed to admit she took a bit of pleasure in the disgusted look that stole across Cole's face at the man's words. "I'm uninjured. I wanted to know what happened to John."

"Well, why don't you ask him? I was stuck in the damn truck all night." Grabbing Sarah's hairdryer from the counter top Charley shoved it into Darla's good hand. "Hit it with that until the plaster dries. Try not to move your hand while it's setting okay?"

"Sure thing." Switching the unit on the young woman forced a smile, "Thanks Charley."

"You wanna thank me..."

"Don't end up on my table again." Darla finished for him with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "You really need to get a new joke Doc."

"Maybe you need to find someone new to patch you up then." Charley graced her with a wry smile while tossing his supplies back into his bag haphazardly. He could always straighten it up after he got some sleep. "He'll be fine Cameron. The wounds on his face were pretty nasty but the heat cauterized them almost instantly so the chance of infection is minimal. His ankle was just a sprain but he did quite the number on his knee falling down the side of that building."

Charley eyed Darla pointedly, "What the hell were you two thinking anyways?"

"Hey, that particular decision was made _way_ above my pay-grade." Cole jabbed her good thumb towards her chest, "_Corporal_, remember? When Connor says jump you ask how high on the way up."

"How reassuring." Charley just shook his head before zipping his bag up. "Try to keep yourself in one piece Cole. I'm going to bed, have O'Brien check on Reed every thirty minutes when she's finished with whatever Johnny's got her doing. Tell her to wake me before she moves him."

"Will do." Darla tried to wave at the departing man but found it difficult without a free hand so she settled for nodding in his direction. It wasn't until he rounded the corner that her view was filled up completely by pissed-off cyborg as Cameron got so close she was practically standing between the woman's legs.

"You were with John?" It wasn't really a question.

Glancing around the room and not seeing anyone else nearby Darla swallowed nervously. "Uhh... yeah."

"And he was injured?" Cole might have been imagining things but she would have sworn the cyborg was slowly closing in on her.

"Listen," Trying to scootch back as far as she could the young woman was foiled by the cabinets behind her. She looked guilty. Cameron didn't like guilty. "About that. I tried to get him to run, he wouldn't listen!"

It surprised Cameron when the Corporal switched off the hairdryer and slammed it down onto the counter top beside her, fresh tears filling her eyes. "You think I wanted him to get hurt because of me?! Do you think I'm happy about it?! You know what? Fuck you you metal bit..."

It was about that time the woman noticed Cameron's fingertips had encircled the plaster wrap around her wrist, not applying any pressure yet, but most definitely not moving away either. The last forty-eight hours of near constant worry about John, the insubordination of her soldiers, the failure of her mission, and now a confirmation that John's injuries had been caused at least in part because of the Corporal sitting in front of her. She was in no mood to be called a bitch again, and if Cole finished her thought, it was likely her hand would 'twitch'.

"John is not the only soldier to be injured in the fight against Skynet. Three years ago a car bomb caused damage to my motor control systems. Since that time this hand has a tendency to be... unpredictable." After a long moment for the woman to come to grips with the situation Cameron pulled a chair from the table behind her and sat down directly in front of her, never once releasing her wrist. "Now. What happened last night?"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
Feb 29th, 2011  
0830 hrs

Stepping over a mound of soiled clothes partially blocking the doorway Cameron was surprised to find John's usually spartan bedroom packed with soldiers, a hive of activity surrounding two unmoving figures in the center of the room. Derek was propped up on John's bed, his left arm now secured over his chest with a medical sling, a small pile of papers and maps spread out over his lap and spilling off onto the comforter on both sides of him. She wondered idly how he would respond knowing she and John had recently made love in that bed but decided it would be for the best if she didn't mention it. For now.

"Still," John turned to Derek as he spoke, "Thirty percent would be acceptable... as long we get the chip."

"You're not listening." Derek's tone seemed to catch the room by surprise, in that moment reminding Cameron more of the chastising uncle of the past than the dependable soldier he'd morphed into lately. "Reed is out for at least two months and I'm no better. That means you're short two squad leaders right off the bat. Coons is officially learning to live with one kidney, Cole's arm is broken in two places, and you look like you've been hit by a fucking tru..."

The Resistance fighter trailed off upon catching sight of the death glare his nephew was shooting him. "Shit. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it like..."

"Of course." John nodded curtly his tone brooking no negotiation. "And I don't mean it 'like that' when I say that if we were down to me and a sling-shot we'd still be going - it's that fucking important. So instead of bitching and moaning how about you actually put together a plan that might improve those odds?"

Cameron seemed to be frozen in the doorway, her visual sensors bombarded her with data that broke her cybernetic heart. The John she had left behind just two days earlier no longer existed, replaced piecemeal by the battered and bitter man she'd known in the future. His eyes were sunken into his cheeks and rimmed with dark rings, half a week of stubble only broken by the vivid white and crimson of the gauze taped over the wounds on the side of his face. Dark black and purple bruises were visible nearly everywhere that wasn't obscured by his desert issue tank-top or the gauze still wrapped around his left forearm from the motel battle.

When Darla had explained her superior's wounds she had lent an almost supernatural quality to them, now the cyborg understood why. A quick calculation told her the odds were nearly a billion to one that his scars would have occurred in this exact pattern a second time, under what she could only assume were entirely different circumstances as he hadn't been active in the fight against Skynet before Judgment Day in the previous time line. His men apparently shared her view as she repeatedly caught them casting lingering and nearly reverent glances in her John's direction.

Fate had sent them all a message.

John on the other hand seemed absolutely miserable. He obviously hadn't slept since the battle and by this point was surviving on a constant stream of caffeine and nicotine to keep him going, beginning to resemble Sarah Connor more with every passing second. Pausing long enough to take a pull from his coffee mug John swiveled his chair over to where Reiger was pounding away on his laptop. "Alright, what have you got on the asshole in the basement?"

"Well," Handing the unit off to his superior so he could glance over the files himself the PFC continued his report, "Seein' as how 'he donna speaka da englisss' all O'Brien's been able to get out of him is his name. Well, we hope it's his name... it's what he says when we point at him anyways."

"Yeah, I get it." John shook his head with a frown, eyes dancing back and forth along the lines of text. "Failure to communicate. Did the name give you anything?"

"Just what you see there, sir." Tommy smiled apologetically.

"Same bullshit as all the rest." John agreed while running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Born in Ukraine. Served in the Soviet Army. Went to work for... oh, fuck me!"

"What?" Derek recognized that tone, pulling himself up into a sitting position with a grimace he snagged the laptop with his good arm and plopped it into his lap. After about thirty seconds he looked back up at John, a mutual frown all the confirmation they needed that the other fully understood what this probably meant. "Reiger, get Lieutenant Baum up her right now. Everyone else, clear the room!"

Though clearly confused the soldiers knew better than to question an obviously irate Derek Reese and had quickly filed out the door causing Cameron to finally enter so she wouldn't be blocking it. Derek just rolled his eyes, having noticed her arrival five minutes earlier and chosen to ignore it. "Sit down or something would you? You make me nervous with that hovering shit."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't be in John's room." Cameron snapped, earning her curious glances from both men which she chose to ignore. Humans weren't the only ones who could be spiteful.

"She can hover wherever she wants Derek." John quirked a brow but relaxed visibly knowing she'd made it home in one piece, gracing her with the first smile anyone had seen on him since the battle. "She did good work out there."

"I didn't retrieve the chip," Cameron added with a pointed frown.

"No," John was forced to concede as he leveraged himself out of his chair with a grunt. "But you brought your team back more or less intact Cam, which is more than can be said for your boss."

"Corporal Cole explained how your strike team was ambushed." Her frown only deepened, "I need to speak to you in private."

Derek glanced back and forth between them with an irritated sigh, "What happened to 'we're all family here'?"

"Shut up Derek." Both John and Cameron fired off at the same time earning a scowl before the injured man returned his focus to the laptop.

Smirking slightly John motioned across the hallway to Cameron's bedroom. They'd barely made it two steps when they nearly ran into Sarah, now in her version of pyjamas, a wifebeater and a pair of boxers that looked like she'd stolen from John or Derek. At a small nod Cameron continued on to her bedroom leaving John and Sarah alone.

"I just laid down John. What the hell is so important that..."

"Sarkissian." John pointed towards his bedroom, "The guy we have in the basement was KGB in the 80's mom, and his boss at the agency was named Pezevenk Sarkissian, an Armenian native."

Sarah brought a hand slowly up to her forehead, "Fuck me..."

"That's what I said." Nodding quickly the younger Connor sighed, "At least now we know why the entire Eastern Bloc has been beating down out door. The information is on my laptop, have Derek bring you up to speed."

"What are you going to be doing?" If his answer wasn't 'sleeping' Sarah was going to be pissed. She'd never seen her son looking this run down.

Though easily recognizing his mother's protective streak John was in no mood to indulge it, he pointed to Cameron's door. "Cameron and I need to talk."

Sarah's deep, calming breath had her son preparing for the inevitable avalanche of Sarah Connor Wrath when she shocked him to the core by instead stepping close and lowering her voice. "John. Maybe... maybe you two shouldn't be 'talking' with your men in the house."

"What?" John looked genuinely confused. "We talk all the time."

"I know!" Quickly catching herself before her temper could ratchet out of control Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose in agitation. She knew she would only alienate John further if she came out swinging, but he needed to learn discretion if they were going to survive this thing. "I heard you two _talking_ the night before I left."

"The night before you... oh. Oh shit!" John stepped back quickly as if expecting his mother to start with the punching any second. "You heard me... I... us?"

"How long?" The lack of emotion in her voice scared the living shit out of him.

"Look mom, I understand that you..."

"How. Long?"

Letting out a long sigh of his own John Connor, the future leader of humanity, tossed his hands up in abject surrender. "About two weeks."

Eying her son long and hard Sarah decided she believed him. "You're lucky I'm the one who busted you John. Do you have any fucking idea how reckless that was? What if it had been Derek? You think I'm the one you need to be worried about? He'd scrap her in a heartbeat if he even suspected what was going on!"

"Over my dead body." John growled.

"Which is kind of the problem, isn't it? I think we'd all appreciate it if you two didn't try to kill each other." Shaking her head Sarah reverted to 'mom mode' for the first time in six months causing John's buttcheeks to clench reflexively. "I don't want to see it. I don't want to hear it. I want to live in a world where my son is as sex-free as a Ken doll. Do you understand me John? Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

Nodding slowly was the best the younger Connor could come up with at the moment. _Never poke the bear_.

"Good." Reaching out she pulled her son in for an awkward hug, mostly made awkward by the fact he was stiff as a steel rod through the whole thing.

_Good_. It was nice to know she could still strike the fear of God into him. Straightening the strap of his tanktop with a small smile she turned and headed towards his room. John quickly beat feet but was halted by her overly-cheery voice a split second before he made it to Cameron's doorway. "And John?"

His shoulders drooping like a man who'd just been told his call from the Governor was a prank and he was still headed to the electric chair John sighed, "Yeah mom?"

"No more 'talking' in my house." Her smile was truly frightening as she opened the door and proceeded into his bedroom.

Banging his forehead against Cameron's door a few times for good measure John began to wonder just how bad a week could get before the universe simply collapsed from the total weight of suck being dumped on it at one time. Stepping across the threshold and seeing the pissy look on his girlfriend's face told him it could apparently handle a little more without giving way. "Did you happen to hear all that?"

"Yes."

John nodded tiredly as he took a seat on the edge of Cameron's bed, "Any chance it'll earn me some sympathy?"

"No."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Rolling his head back and forth across his shoulder John motioned for her to continue.

Kneeling in front of him so they would be at an equal eye-level Cameron fought to keep her concern for John's condition from showing. She was supposed to be mad at him. "You lied to me John."

"I... what?" In the last week he'd been shot, blown up, dropped off the side of a building, killed more than a dozen human beings, and had his mother discover his sexual relationship with a cybernetic killing machine. He thought he should get some slack for being a little slow on the uptake.

Unable to suppress the urge any longer Cameron found her fingers tracing the edges of the bandages on John's face as he'd done with her so many times in the past. "You promised me you wouldn't risk your life for any of your soldiers. You were almost killed protecting Corporal Cole."

"Oh." Leaning into the touch John could feel a shudder race down his spine as memories of the battle bombarded him. "It was such a mess Cam. I... I really fucked up. We were under fire and everyone was looking to me for answers and I didn't... I just didn't know what the fuck to tell them! But they kept looking to me like I was going to part the earth and march them out of there without a scratch."

"John..." Seeing his quickly deteriorating emotional state Cameron decided it would be best to let the matter slide for now, but the floodgates had already been opened.

"She followed me in there Cam!" John shook his head, "Never even questioned me. Two fucking people against a building full of entrenched fighters and she followed me! God dammit, why did she follow me?! What kind of person does something like that? I haven't done a damn thing to earn that kind of trust."

"You're John Connor." Removing her jacket and setting it on her dresser Cameron kicked her boots off before joining John on the bed, gently but insistently pulling him up until they were both reclining against the pillows.

"That's not enough." Her John was staring at the ceiling, likely replaying the more vivid parts of the battle as he spoke. "That's not enough to die for. So yeah Cameron, I broke my promise. I tried to save her."

Running a shaking hand through his hair he turned to face her, willing her to understand his responsibility to his soldiers. "Because I almost got her killed! It was my fault it happened Cam... and no one should have to die because of my stupidity."

"Soldiers will die." Tossing an arm over his chest Cameron settled into her customary place, ear resting over his heart as he ran his hand idly through her hair. It was a little empowering the way his heartbeat began to even out the moment she had initiated physical contact between them. Corporal Lorne had been right, John was a different person when she was with him. "Sometimes even John Connor makes mistakes."

"I wanted to prove that I was worthy. That I wasn't just being handed this because of who I was." Finally dropping a tired kiss on the top of her head John sighed, "I blew it."

Rolling her head until her chin was propped on his solar plexus Cameron quirked a brow, "Your plan was flawed?"

"Oh yeah." John agreed readily, "Totally FUBAR."

Nodding slightly the cyborg continued, "Your team was ambushed by third party force no one anticipated?"

"Whole platoon of the fuckers." Her lover yawned widely, their relaxed position slowly having the desired effect.

"And the T-888," Cameron concluded, "It attacked during the height of the battle?"

"More or less... I was kinda falling out a window at the time so I'm a bit fuzzy on the details." John could only shrug sheepishly.

"I heard." Cameron smiled as she leaned up and kissed him gently, running her fingers over his unmarred cheek. "And yet you brought every member of your team home alive John. You did a good job."

John snorted, "I got lucky, Cam."

"The strength of John Connor isn't his individual prowess in combat," Cameron insisted. "But in his ability to motivate others to accomplish tasks they would have believed impossible without him."

"What kind of hero-worshiping dumbass dreamed up that bullshit?" John shook his head. He'd heard enough of this crap from his men over the last year, he didn't need it from Cameron too.

Cameron's response was instantaneous and from the look on her lover's face, as devastating as she'd meant for it to be. "Skynet."

"It's from page one of your psychological profile."

"Gee. Just when I start thinking there's nothing that can make me hate Skynet any more it goes and makes me look stupid in front of my girlfriend." Shaking his head back and forth John leaned in and returned her kiss, shivering as her tongue darted along his bottom lip. "Thanks Cam."

"Hey," She smiled up at him coyly, "That's what friends do."

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's note - Thanks as always to my beta Bigbew who puts up with me rather admirably. Seriously, there should be a merit badge or something.

Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to review. I try to put a lot of effort into my writing and it really means a lot when someone takes the time to let you know that they enjoy it. If I miss anyone I apologize, I'm submitting this at 2:40am local time. TSCCandTwilightarehebest, xxshyangel29xx , Nordwest, LJM, Bigbew, DragonSeraphin, Necro-wulf, fullhans1, TK-MR, Tarja (thanks for the first time review), and of course kaotic (who shouldn't have to skim as much this chapter :~) )

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, if you did, please leave a review and let me know it!


	13. Chapter 13

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 13/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/07/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 1st, 2011  
0945 hrs

_Stop shaking. Stop shaking. Stop shaking. _

John glared at his right hand where it clutched the steering wheel of Sarah's Jeep with enough force to splinter wood, but no matter how hard he tried, it just kept spasming away. He couldn't understand it. He'd been fine since the battle, maybe even a little calmer than usual, but the second he'd stepped foot outside the house it felt like the entire world was closing in around him.

Movement in the treeline had him reaching for his Glock, only a questioning look from the guard near the barn had stayed his hand. Trying to brush it off like he'd just been straightening his shirt John had tossed a wave in Private Carmack's direction, inquired politely about his friend Private Coons' recovery, and jumped into the Jeep before he had a chance to make an ass out of himself again.

Then the shaking had set in and began to seriously damage his calm. So he sat there and berated himself for his weakness while Cameron took her sweet time prepping for whatever mission she'd decided was so important she'd had him set aside the entire day for it. With a month until Judgment Day a twenty-four hour block was an increasingly precious commodity so he was sure that whatever it was she had up her sleeve they were going in hot.

Having slept for nearly twenty hours John was still feeling a little foggy and disoriented. It didn't help he hadn't had any coffee yet. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until Cameron had woken him forty-five minutes ago with a pile of clothing in one hand and a breakfast bar in the other. She'd been all 'important mission' this and 'supply requisition' that with a liberal sprinkling of 'morale boosting' for good measure. Seriously, since when the hell did Cameron care about morale? He'd showered and attempted to shave while on auto-pilot, which had proved interesting when trying to skirt around his new facial art.

John hadn't really had the opportunity to examine the scars in a mirror until this morning and now regretted pulling the bandages off in the first place. A single line starting two inches above his left eyebrow and cutting straight down through it before branching into two lines just below his eye and proceeding downwards until they met again just above his jawbone. He'd stood there in a towel for nearly twenty minutes just turning his head back and forth, amazed at how a simple tilt of his chin could transform him from normal teenager to battered warrior. If only the real transition had turned out that easy.

The clothes Cameron had picked out for him should have been his first clue something was off. You didn't wear khakis to a firefight. Still, he had to admit it was nice throwing on a comfortable pair of civvies for a change and Cameron remained as practical as always. The navy t-shirt and plaid over shirt were both long enough to conceal the Glock tucked into his pants and hide the gauze covering the bullet wound in his forearm.

Showered, freshly shaven, and wearing the cleanest clothes he'd had on in a week John couldn't help but feel a little alien, like this just didn't fit anymore. Checking the dashboard clock for the tenth time in fifteen minutes he barely suppressed an eye roll before turning over the engine and thumbing through the radio. "I am gonna burn that makeup one of these days..."

Stumbling across rapid electric guitar John cranked the volume and leaned back in his seat, pulling the brim of his baseball cap down to minimize the glare pouring in from the early morning sun.

_So clever, whatever, I'm done with these endeavors_  
_Alone I walk the winding way, here I stay_  
_It's over, no longer, I feel it growing stronger_  
_I live to die another day, until I fade away_

_Why give up? Why give in? It's not enough, it never is_  
_So I will go on until the end_  
_We've become desolate, it's not enough, it never is_  
_But I will go on until the end_

Click.

"Yeah, that was a mood improver." Leaning forward until his forehead was resting on the top of the steering wheel a door slamming in the back seat had John nearly hitting the ceiling in surprise. With the music cranked he hadn't heard anyone approach. _Sloppy John. Real fucking sloppy. _

Glancing up into the rear view Connor could only quirk a brow in silent question as the brunette smiled back sheepishly and pointed towards the cyborg climbing into the passenger seat. Shifting his attention away from the mirror he made a mental note to forget anything bad he'd ever said or thought about Cameron and her makeup. While he looked like something from a bad horror movie she was absolutely radiant from her motorcycle boots to her perfectly straightened hair. The black jeans were just tight enough for John to appreciate his favorite bits and the dark blue top just short enough to give him a view of skin every time she moved.

He'd sat there drooling for twenty seconds before he remembered there was someone else in the Jeep with them. Sputtering to a start with less dignity than a General should probably have around his troops John shifted enough to stick his head between the front seats. "Corporal Lorne?"

"Sir?" Rachel looked absolutely awestruck. This did not bode well for the afternoon ahead.

"John." Cameron corrected with a small smirk.

Starting to feel a bit like a ping-pong ball he glanced back over at his girlfriend, "John?"

"For today." She insisted, "It would be odd for her to refer to you as her superior given the nature of our mission."

"Uh huh." Not at all liking the devious glint in Cameron's eyes or the sheepish fumbling of the Corporal in the back seat John took into acount their conspicuous lack of firepower. "And what exactly is this mission? Recon? Mercenary hunt? Search and destroy?"

Leveling the best 'don't fuck with me' look John had seen outside his mother Cameron shifted the Jeep into drive. "Shopping."

Releasing a sigh he didn't realize he'd been holding onto John set down the barely visible path to the road. "This is because I broke my promise, isn't it?"

"No." Slipping back into her customary small smile at his easy acquiescence Cameron shook her head. "This is because you need to learn now how to effectively deal with Resistance fighters in the future. The archetypal Resistance fighter is capable of enduring long periods of deprivation and mental duress under the most hectic of conditions. This comes at a price though, as they tend to internalize their emotional responses during these periods. Without a proper outlet to vent these impulses they can become increasingly hostile, even violent."

Glancing into the rear view at Corporal Lorne the cyborg nodded, "No offense."

"None taken." Rachel chuckled a little, "We _are_ a wacky bunch."

"So." John rolled his eyes, "We're shopping for what exactly?"

"Party supplies." The waggle of Rachel's eyebrows told him most of those supplies would be of the 100 proof variety. Looks like that fake ID his mother was always complaining about would finally come in handy.

"Yeah," Shaking his head back and forth slowly while snagging his sunglasses from the visor and flipping them into place John didn't try to hide his irritation at the turn this day had taken. "We are definitely not packing enough firepower."

"For shopping?" Even Cameron looked skeptical.

John rolled his eyes, "No. For trying to get twelve cases of booze past mom. You know she's been on the war path since..."

The younger Connor trailed off as the grinning cyborg in the passenger seat whipped out a small blue rectangle with a Visa logo on it. "Sarah Connor is financing the festivities."

"Uh huh." He imagined he looked skeptical, which would be pretty accurate. "Does she _know_ that she's buying the booze?"

"Yeah." Rachel leaned forward between the seats glancing back and forth between them while literally bouncing in her seat with enthusiasm about their outing. John wondered idly how a post-apocalyptic Resistance soldier could remind him so much of a hyper ten year old. "She said something about needing to sort some shit out. Said only her friend Jose could make sense of things at this point."

Cameron's brow quirked up, "I didn't know Sarah Connor had any friends in Colorado."

"She means Jose Cuervo, Cameron. Tequila." Pulling out onto the highway John popped open the glove box, rummaging around for his smokes. "And believe me, he is _not _her friend."

"Oh." Filing that little tidbit away for future reference Cameron smiled, "Thank you for explaining."

Closing the glove box with a frown John continued his search through the center console as thoroughly as he could while driving the Jeep. "No problem. So, are you going to tell me why you had me set aside an entire day for a beer run?"

"Sarah Connor wanted to find a way to convince you to postpone the assault." Cameron actually looked a little guilty, which for her translated into chewing on her bottom lip in a way John doubted she knew effected him as much as it did. He would have been wrong though, as she did know and regularly used it to devastating effect. "The party was Derek's idea."

"You see this Lorne? You see what I have to deal with?" John couldn't help but chuckle a little. Only his mother and his uncle could throw a 'keep John from getting himself killed' party. "It's a damn conspiracy is what it is."

"Rachel." Cameron corrected with another smirk.

"Huh?" It took John a second to catch up with what she meant, "Oh. Sorry, Rachel."

"It's okay, si..." At Cameron's glance she stuttered to a stop, unable to actually look at Connor while saying it she settled for focusing on the floor mat. "John."

Detecting the sudden increase in tension Cameron sought to lighten the mood by providing non-vital information in an effort to stimulate conversation. 'Small talk' was a skill she had tried to perfect for years with little success. "This is Rachel's first trip to a mall. She has expressed a great deal of anticipation about the experience."

"Really?" It was John's turn to quirk a brow, grimacing slightly as it stretched his face uncomfortably. "Wait. I thought we were buying booze?"

"We are." Cameron was careful to keep her posture and expression as neutral as possible, this would require a bit of creative thinking to pull off correctly. Sarah Connor had been insistent though, John needed a 'normal' day to unwind. Shopping with his girlfriend was the most normal activity she had been able to come up with on short notice that didn't violate Sarah's no sex in the house policy. "But this might be the last opportunity we have to purchase supplies before Judgment Day."

"And by supplies, you mean..."

"Clothes." Rachel's smile nearly split her face where it still sat between the seats. "Beautiful, expensive, totally impractical in a fight, clothes."

John could literally feel the testosterone being leeched from his body, "Are you _sure_ this isn't because I lied?"

"No." Cameron insisted with a slightly exasperated look that her significant other recognized as the slippery slope leading downwards into pissed-off and pouty cyborg. "I don't understand the problem John. You and Derek often put aside important matters to engage in inane bonding rituals."

"Just what in the hell does me and Derek going out for a couple beers have to do with...." Trailing off slowly John wondered exactly how he hadn't crashed the Jeep with his foot wedged knee deep in his own mouth. Now not only did he feel like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner, but an asshole for complaining as long as he did. Cameron had never experienced 'girl time' and it wasn't like there were going to be a whole lot of opportunities in the future to get it out of the way. "You just wanted to spend a day with your friend."

Nodding to himself he resumed his digging in the console, wondering idly how his mother kept track of anything in the mass of fast food napkins and discarded trash. "Sounds great. Unwind a little, get our bearings. You like Chinese Rachel?"

"Never had it." Apparently not even food was a safe subject with this one, she was blushing to her ears.

John was so focused on his task he didn't notice Cameron's approach until her lips caught the side of his cheek. "Thank you John."

What was that about blushing? Glancing up into the rear view he caught Lorne staring studiously out the window and couldn't help but smirk. Cameron apparently chose her friends wisely. "No problem."

Giving his pockets one last thorough patdown John finally tossed his free hand up in the air in frustration. "You want to thank me? How about telling me where I left my smokes?"

"You left a pack in the glove box of the Jeep and two in your nightstand." Cameron never even batted an eye. "I threw them all in the garbage."

"You what?!" Falling back into the seat with an irritated groan John was pretty sure her devious smile had just made it's return. "Why would you do that?"

Leaning over to turn on the radio Cameron waited until her lips were two point one inches from his ear before responding softly, "_That_ was for lying to me."

* * *

Greenwalk Mall  
Denver, Colorado  
March 1st, 2011  
1045 hrs

*Attention shoppers. Lady Footlocker is having their annual Hoof it For a Cure sale until the end of the week. All proceeds will be donated to breast cancer awareness.*

It had taken the small group nearly half an hour just to make it past the fountain, Cameron actually having to grab Corporal Lorne by the hand twice to get her to move past one store or another. The only place she hadn't been interested in was where John had actually wanted to browse a minute - Radio Shack. Figured.

They were currently huddled around a kiosk advertising 'genuine tribal jewelry', one of the hundreds dotting shopping malls all over the Southwest. John's favorite game was seeing how many Made in China stickers he could spot before the owner ran him off, but today he was satisfied to lean back against the wall and watch the girls browse the selection while intermittently scanning the crowd for signs of trouble.

Cameron was pleased he seemed to be making an effort to enjoy himself despite the fact he would obviously rather be elsewhere doing just about anything but this. Placing the turquoise and steel bracelet she had been examining back onto the display the cyborg made a special note to reward him for it later. For a human, John was remarkably easy to please most of the time and his favorite activities tended to be mutually pleasurable anyways.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts she didn't even register the fact Rachel had moved until the young woman snatched her hand and began 'dragging' her towards a store across the hall. "Alright. Now clothes!"

Catching sight of their destination Cameron could feel a brow quirk unconsciously, "What does a damp aquatic mammal have to do with feminine clothing?"

"Um, you've got me there." Lorne didn't feel quite as bad about laughing when she saw John trying to stifle a few guffaws of his own. Cameron's little quirks were already starting to grow on her. "But they've got nice stuff."

"You've said that about every shop in the mall." Rolling his eyes while trudging along a few steps behind the girls Connor was pulling off the 'disinterested boyfriend' routine perfectly despite his lack of previous experience. "Even that Pakistani rug store with the urine smell."

"Hey," Rachel glanced back over her shoulder long enough to stick her tongue out at her boss. "Those were festive!"

"They were brown." John corrected with a smirk while following Cameron into Wet Seal, the tvs on the wall all playing a music video from a band he'd never heard of before. Even after three years John still had the random case of time lag, usually when confronted with pop culture.

He was quickly forgotten about as the girls attacked a display near the door, leaving him to browse aimlessly while trying not to look like a freak. Catching sight of a case full of various kinds of watches and jewelry he toyed with the idea of picking up something for Cameron. That was what normal boyfriends did, right? Bought stuff for their girlfriends?

Of course you were always treading on dangerous ground buying something for Cameron. If it wasn't functional or fell within her limited and highly eclectic sense of fashion then she'd likely just tilt her head and throw it in the trash. Honestly, what in the hell do you buy for a cyborg who wears fingerless gloves?

His internal debate was silenced by the arrival of an overly peppy sales girl who practically jumped up in front of him and slapped her palms down on the display case, blonde curls bobbing around her head. "Hey there! Anything I can help you with today?"

_How about not jumping directly in front of the twitchy guy with the loaded 9mm? Too much to ask? _Forcing what he hoped was a pleasant smile John eyed a selection of leather bracelets beneath the glass. "Just looking, thanks."

"Picking something out for your girlfriend?" The girl leaned closer over the counter with a smile of her own, obviously not sensing John's attitude.

Connor shrugged sheepishly, "That obvious, huh?"

"They all come in here with that exact same look hon." Unlocking the case from behind tried to follow his eyes to determine what he was looking at. "Maybe I can help you out. What's she like?"

"She's...," John couldn't stop the goofy smile from spreading across his face. "Unique."

"Okay," Yanking the small tray of bracelets off the shelf she placed it on the counter top with a flourish more at home on the Price is Right than presenting cheap leather-goods made in Thailand. "These are _so_ in right now."

Pulling one of the leather bands from it's cradle she undid the buckles around the back and laid it flat atop the counter. "Little alternative, little biker, and a lot kinky."

Well, they matched her boots, and though John wasn't exactly up to date on women's fashion he assumed that was a good thing. "She'll love it. I'll take it."

"Awesome!" Tossing the rest of the tray back into the display she rang up his purchase, the chatter never letting up. "She's a lucky girl. Not all guys are considerate enough to do something like this, you know? I wish my boyfriend spent a little more time thinking with his head instead of his... oh God."

John was in the process of grabbing his wallet when she trailed off into a gasp, and it occurred to him for the first time his change in position had exposed her to the left side of his face for the first time. Pulling the battered leather billfold from his pocket John rummaged through it for a moment to locate a bill smaller than a 100 while the girl stumbled her way through an awkward apology.

"I am _so_ sorry." Picking up the fifty he'd dropped on the counter she gathered up his change with shaky hands, "I just... it caught me off guard. Was it a car accident? My dad had a really bad one a few years back and he..."

"Yeah." John grumbled while pulling the bill of his hat down self-consciously. "Something like that."

Finally handing off the money and his purchase the girl blushed awkwardly, "That's so sad. It's really not that bad though! You can hardly notice it from this angle. I wouldn't have even..."

"John?" Having picked up the conversation from across the store Cameron had decided to intervene, sidling up beside him and sliding her hand into his back pocket as she'd observed other couples doing in the mall. "I was wondering where you went."

"It's time to get lunch." Making sure to tilt his face so she could kiss the injured side directly between his scars Cameron cast an irritated look at the salesgirl before leading him towards the door, allowing barely an inch of space between their bodies.

They'd barely made it through the door when John came to a halt, exhaling sharply before schooling his features and smiling at her. "I appreciate the gesture but you didn't have to do that."

"She was being inconsiderate." Cameron insisted with an edge to her voice.

"She was being human Cameron." Frowning, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering for a long second before pulling back. "I've known for a while I don't belong here anymore. Now... they know it too."

Squeezing her hand one last time John broke off as Corporal Lorne approached with two bags of clothing weighing her down, not bothering to look back as he set out for the food court.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 1st, 2011  
1930 hrs

Cameron made her way into the barracks as soon as she'd finished putting away her recent purchases, taking the time to change out of her casual clothes and back into her more utilitarian bluejeans/tank-top combination in an effort to avoid arousing suspicion and further complicating John's command. She had been reluctant to attend the informal gathering in the first place as the soldiers didn't tend to respond well to her presence in what they considered to be their home, but John had been insistent that he 'needed her there'. For what, she had no idea, but as long as he did she would be there.

A quick scan of the room told her she was the last to arrive, the rest of the force was already splintered off into small groups around the room. Derek was seated at a table near the front of the room looking uncommonly restrained beside an obviously cranky Sarah Connor, casting the occasional impatient glance towards the clock on the wall before eying the booze stacked up on a folding table at the back of the room.

Private Coons was reclining on the couch looking much healthier than she had been the last time Cameron had seen the young woman, the color finally returning to her skin as her body slowly mended itself. Private Carmack and Sergeant Reed were seated on bar stools a few feet in front of the couch carrying on a heated debate with her about the protagonist of the movie they'd watched the night before. Having never seen the movie in question Cameron quickly shifted her attention down the line to the next clique. The social dynamic of this group was a never ending source of fascination for the cyborg.

A few meters to the right Corporal Cole was playing cards with Sergeant McGhee and Corporal Booth, mumbling around an unlit stogie while dealing out the next hand. All three cast lingering glances in Cameron's direction and in an uncharacteristic show of defiance she made it a point to smile sweetly at them before brushing past without a backward glance.

Corporal Lorne caught her attention with an enthusiastic wave which Cameron returned awkwardly before finally locating John on the far side of the room among a group of his soldiers. Despite the occasional reaction to John's appearance it seemed that their outing earlier had achieved the desired effect as he laughed easily while slapping Lieutenant Hendrix on the back. It appeared as if a weight had literally been lifted from his body, his back straight and his shoulders no longer hunched. He had apparently decided to change as well, now clad in a pair of BDU pants and a black t-shirt

To his right Private O'Brien was flailing her hands around in an apparent imitation of her superior officer falling down the side of a building, eliciting laughter from the entire group along with a sheepish shrug from John. Cameron tried not to notice the way the laughter died off as soon as she arrived at the periphery. John's warm smile was more than enough to make up for the awkwardness involved in being here among his men.

"Alright, grab a seat guys." Swatting Huey on the back one last time John ran a quick eye over the room before whistling loudly. "Come on people! Find a chair!"

Cameron had barely made it a step before John caught her gently by the wrist and pulled her into a position standing directly to his right. At her questioning expression he leaned in slightly to whisper, "This is where you belong Cameron. They need to get used to it."

Flashing her a reassuring smile he waited until everyone had found a seat before addressing the group. "Few announcements before we get down to business."

Pulling a 3x5 card out of his back pocket only the smallest hint of a smirk clued Cameron into the fact he wasn't being serious. That, and the fact the index card he was consulting was blank. "Private Coons lost her kidney in valiant service in the fight against Skynet. I don't want to hear any more of you giving her trouble, alright? No more 'tinkle-toes'. No more 'Depends Barbie'. And definitely no more 'Chief Runs Like Faucet'. Hear me?"

Muffled laughter echoed across the room causing indignant glares from the Private on the couch though it was obvious even she was fighting a smile. John coughed into his hand before continuing, "On a completely unrelated note, Private Coons will no longer be riding in my car during the road trip to the safe house."

Raucous laughter broke out while John deftly dodged a couch pillow. Bouncing back upright he consulted his card again while trying to school his features. "Also, I want to address the rumors I've been hearing about last night's meatloaf. It was _not_ in fact 'made of people'. Lieutenant Baum has assured me the green tint was the absolutely natural byproduct of spilling gun oil into your glaze."

"The investigation into last week's enchiladas remains ongoing." John's deadpan earned him a 1 finger salute from the elder Connor and another round of laughter.

"Look, you guys have been here for a year now." Switching from John to Connor silenced the room in the space of a second. "And yet I haven't really taken the time to tell you what to expect. Not only the logistics of the war ahead, but what I expect from you and what you can expect from me when it comes to leading you into that fight."

"I know that I ask a lot out of you, but you've delivered for me every time I've needed you to." Looking more than a little awkward John nodded quickly, "I'm proud of you and I know that you'll continue to exceed my expectations. In two days we're hitting the final Triple-8 at a fortified research facility north of San Fransisco. I've asked Lieutenant Baum to cover Sergeant Reed's squad for the final assault, I couldn't be placing you all in more capable hands."

"Make no mistake people, what we've seen so far is a walk in the park compared to what we're gonna be walking into." Letting his words sink in a moment John started moving slowly down the center of the room, "They know we're coming. They've had time to fortify their position and call in as much backup as they feel is necessary to defend their prize."

"We are going to be assaulting an entrenched and highly motivated enemy in his own back yard." Eying each soldier in turn John couldn't help but smile, "But that's why they call us the Resistance and not the Army. This is what we do. This is who we are."

"As of 0800 hrs, March 3rd, 2011... we are officially at war with Skynet." John shook his head, "The time for games is over. We have one month before the bombs drop and the world burns, until that time we will seek out anything or anyone providing aid or resources for the coming war and we will eliminate them."

"I told you that I wanted you to know what I expected of you, so here it is." Spreading his hands out to encompass the room John's face became ice, "I want _one_ thing from you. I have _one_ standing order that is to be carried into the field no matter what else you might be doing."

"Whenever presented with an opportunity to do so, you will Fuck. Shit. Up." Suppressing a smirk he started ticking off points on his fingers. "Never leave a building standing that you can bring down. If you encounter weaponry, supplies, or infrastructure of any kind you will either steal it or blow it the hell up. This is scorched earth people. This is total war."

"For all it's strengths and advantages, Skynet is a conventional army trying to fight a conventional war. That's it's weakness and our strength. It requires things that we don't in order to maintain it's forward bases and areas of operation." Nodding along with his train of thought John continued, "We're going to attempt something the Resistance never has before. We're not going to attack Skynet, we're going to attack it's infrastructure. Like the Germans learned in World War II, the fastest planes and the best tanks don't mean dick if they're sitting still from lack of gas."

"This is an army built in a factory. They need metals and minerals, they need energy, in the same way we need food and oxygen." John was a little taken aback by the smile nearly splitting Derek's face at his words. He wouldn't find out until months later it was because he'd seen future John give a nearly identical speech years in the future. It was reassuring to the man to finally witness something familiar in his General. "This means mining and drilling sites. This means supply lines. This means vulnerability."

"We are going to avoid direct engagements as much as possible while striking everywhere at once. We'll enter an area, neutralize it's defenses, destroy it's ability to aid the war effort, and move on before Skynet can bring it's superior numbers to bare." Slowly making his way back to the front of the room John resumed his previous position beside Cameron. "We're going to bleed the enemy white, we're going to bring their production to halt, then we're going to smash what's left. In short - we're going to fuck shit up."

Having not really expected it, the whooping and cheering endorsement from the men around him was a welcome reassurance. Waiting a few seconds for everyone to quiet down John finally let himself relax into a smile, "If this works we'll significantly shorten the war by limiting Skynet's initial buildup of forces. Our goal will be to keep these hit-and-run operations going full time while building up our own conventional forces for the final push. You all are going to be instrumental in passing on your knowledge and experience to people not schooled in this kind of fight."

"There you have it." The finality was a more pressing reminder than even his scars that General Connor had arrived. "Enjoy the party guys, you've earned it. Let loose. Get it all out of your systems now, because in two days we'll be drinking in Hell."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 1st, 2011  
2213 hrs

"Banzai!!!!!"

Derek's howl had everyone at the table firing back their shots, slamming the empty glasses down, and echoing his cry the only way a bunch of drunk Resistance fighters knew how - loudly.

Sarah rolled her eyes while running the back of her hand across her mouth, the numbness slowly spreading along her lips one of many clues she'd received in the last twenty minutes that it was time to call it a night. For once though, she didn't plan on listening to that voice. In the last week she'd nearly lost her son twice only to later find out he was fucking a toaster. She figured she'd earned a drink.

"You know what Derek?" Sarah slurred, leaning slightly into the burly Resistance fighter to keep from slipping off her chair entirely. "I'm gonna say it... that's just... it's in bad taste."

The younger man quirked a brow, "The reference to a suicide mission or the fact we're drinking kamikazes?"

"Both."

"Well, tact isn't covered in the field manual." Private O'Brien insisted while trying to refill their shot glasses with limited success, her usually pale cheeks a vivid shade of crimson.

Snagging the wobbly bottle from the Amanda's hand Derek finished prepping the shots in short order. "We don't have a field manual."

"Really? We should." Licking a bit of spilled liquor off her fingers O'Brien brushed her bangs out of her eyes only to have them fall right back into place in an angry mass of curls. "Would make us seem more... respectable?"

"Yeah." Sarah actually snorted, "'Fuck Shit Up: An Idiot's Guide to the Resistance."

"Catchy title." Derek agreed with a smile, "I'd buy it. If... you know, I actually bought books."

The table dissolved into a fit of laughter earning a quirked eyebrow from the future General making his way past with an armful of German beer. It was nice seeing his mother let her hair down but that didn't stop it from being a bit unsettling at the same time. His limp had grown noticeably after being on his feet all day but the steady stream of alcohol meant he wasn't feeling any of it. Cameron had made it perfectly clear she didn't approve, but he had apparently given up smoking for the woman already, and you had to draw the line somewhere.

Besides, there was no way she could toss out the amount of booze generally stocked in this barracks. Even a cyborg has some limitations.

Dodging the drunken soldiers wobbling around the cleared away section of the floor that had apparently been set aside for dancing, John had to remind himself that most of them had never had the opportunity to learn properly. He'd caught Cameron eying their lack of grace with a perplexed frown on more than one occasion, apparently having difficulty reconciling her idea of dance with the random gyrations and spastic changes of direction their 'style' dictated.

Chuckling softly to himself John deftly side-stepped Corporal Lorne who was practically dragging Private Carmack around the dance floor and nearly ran head-first into Corporal Cole. Coming to an abrupt and rather unsteady stop one of the beer bottles clutched between his fingers bounced free only to be caught about three inches from the floor by a smirking Darla who popped the top and took a long swig.

"Better watch yourself Connor." John found his gaze drifting almost unconsciously downward, following the plunging neckline of her shirt before visibly snapping himself out of it with an awkward smile. "You don't want to know what the penalty is for a party foul in a group like this."

Rolling his eyes a bit John motioned to the beer in her hand, "Probably about the same as it is for showing up at the table one short."

"Come on, the cyborg doesn't need it." Darla shook her head, dark hair fanning out around her face. "Fun is completely wasted on that one."

"Well you seem to be having enough fun for two or three people Cole, I'm sure you can pick up the slack." John smirked.

"Not yet, but I'm workin' on it." Prying the remaining beers from his hands and setting them on a nearby table Darla didn't give him the second his liquor-stalled brain required to process what she was doing before snagging his hand and dragging him towards the dance floor. "Come on Johnny, dance with me."

"Darla..." John sighed, "John Connor does not dance."

"John Connor only refers to himself in the third person when totally smashed." Rolling her eyes Cole sidled up to him and tossed her arms around his neck, an awkward proposition considering the difference in their height. "Just dance with me Johnny. You said we're supposed to have fun. Good leaders do so by example."

"I _was_ having fun." John grumbled, falling into step with the Corporal automatically. "Over there. Sitting down."

"See? That's not so bad, is it?" Flashing him a wry smile she pulled his right hand up to the small of her back and left it there before returning her hand to the side of his neck. Leading him in a slow circle around the floor Darla leaned into his chest, the top of her head just barely brushing his chin.

"Well it's not exactly getting teeth pulled," John sighed. "Still, Darla... we've had this conversation before. Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed." Darla's hold tightened almost imperceptibly. "You need this Johnny."

"Hmmm?" Busy mentally debating the appropriate distance one should keep from their subordinate while dancing in public John thought he must have misunderstood her.

"You need _us_. Humans." Coming to a halt Darla pulled back so she could look the man in the eyes, "And we need you. We fight for you Johnny. We _die_ for you. We love you."

Darla cut him off before he could respond, looking to be on the verge of tears. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does." Shaking his head John was forced to wonder when a perfectly enjoyable evening had taken such a nasty turn. "I put my life on the line for you too remember?"

"I do." She agreed readily, "And for the first time I got a glimpse of the man I knew Johnny. The man that saved all of us from the machines. The man that saved me. Now, I just wanna return the favor."

Confused, guilty, and becoming more than a little frustrated John quirked a brow, "I'm sorry Darla. What is it you want from me?"

Smiling softly she slid her hand from his neck up to the unmarked side of his face. "Just a chance Johnny."

Then, in front of half the troops under his command, his mother, his uncle, and Cameron, she kissed him.

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note: Thanks to Bigbew as always for the beta duty.

Reviews are greatly appreciated and I want to thank all of you who take the time to do so. It really means a lot for a writer to know that their work is being enjoyed, know that I always value your feedback and take it into account when advancing the story. Sorry if I forget anyone - Bigbew, xxshyangel29xx, DragonSeraphin, TK-MR, Firespray, Kaotic2 (see, no action at all :) ), Fullhans1, ljm, kalapaat (I apologize for the grammar, its never been my strong suit), Annara Ren (appreciate the first time review) and of course Nordwest who should write book reviews for a living.

Thanks for reading, please take a moment to review.


	14. Chapter 14

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 14/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/11/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 1st, 2011  
2220 hrs

"You need _us_. Humans." Coming to a halt Darla pulled back so she could look the man in the eyes, "And we need you. We fight for you Johnny. We _die_ for you. We love you."

Darla cut him off before he could respond, looking to be on the verge of tears. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does." Shaking his head John was forced to wonder when a perfectly enjoyable evening had taken such a nasty turn. "I put my life on the line for you too remember?"

"I do." She agreed readily, "And for the first time I got a glimpse of the man I knew Johnny. The man that saved all of us from the machines. The man that saved me. Now, I just wanna return the favor."

Confused, guilty, and becoming more than a little frustrated John quirked a brow, "I'm sorry Darla. What do you want from me?"

Smiling softly she slid her hand from his neck up to the unmarked side of his face. "Just a chance Johnny."

Then, in front of half the troops under his command, his mother, and his uncle, she kissed him.

Stepping backwards proved to be a waste of time when the woman you were trying to step away from weighs 120 pounds and is holding onto your neck for dear life, so after a second or so of an awkward backwards waltz John shrugged her off a little less gently than he'd intended to. "You're drunk Cole..."

"Since when did Connor worry about taking advantage?" Her grin was predatory.

"Let. Me. Finish." Straightening his shirt with a frustrated sigh John's look had her finally giving him the distance he'd been fighting for. "What I was gonna say is that because you're drunk, I'm willing to forget that ever happened. You're one of my best Cole, but you need to get your head in the ga..."

Though the kiss had gone for the most part unnoticed beyond those on the dance floor the shout carrying across the barracks brought any hopes John had of a quiet, private resolution to a screeching halt. A few feet to his right Corporal Lorne shot him a death glare before stepping away from Private Carmack and jogging for the back of the room. "Cameron, wait!"

"Ohhh shit." Running a hand through his hair John finally fixed Cole with an exasperated look before bolting after the Corporal himself, his parting words tossed over a shoulder. "We are _not_ finished!"

His mother was half-way out of her seat as he streaked past, but seemed to think better of it when she caught sight of the look on his face and slumped back into her chair next to Derek who was looking around like he knew something was happening but was having a serious internal debate as to whether or not he should care. Once he confirmed no one was pulling their sidearms he went back to nursing his beer. "What's his problem?"

"Him?" Sarah pointed idly towards her son's rapidly retreating back, an odd grimace distorting her features. "Off the top of my head? I'd say the wires between his dick and his brain got crossed up at some point."

Catching sight of Derek's uncomprehending stare she shook her head, "Oh! You meant right this second? Hell if I know, but if the look on Cameron's face was any indication I'd say it's time to break out the popcorn."

Seeing the savior of humanity's mother giggling drunkenly to herself while simultaneously looking like she was about to start either balling her eyes out or begin strangling the nearest living thing was an experience Derek would remember for the rest of his life, primarily because it was seared permanently into place by the events immediately following that look.

The room had practically ground to a halt, everyone either looking around to figure out what the disturbance was or already focusing on their future General sprinting to close the distance between himself and the cyborg power-walking for the door. Despite the damage to his knee John passed Corporal Lorne up quickly, a squeeze of her shoulder on the way past enough to let the soldier know it was being taken care of. "Hey! Cameron!"

It would have been comical the way he almost barreled right into her when she unexpectedly spun on a heel to face him if it hadn't been for the look on her face. John had seen Cameron pissed off a few times since her emotions begun manifesting themselves. He'd thought she was going to take Derek's head right off his shoulders a few times over the first six months, but they'd worked through it together. That was the look he'd been expecting to see, her nose scrunched up and her eyebrows drawing together while she tried to make sense of the unwelcome and overpowering feelings bombarding her, but what he saw instead nearly stopped his heart.

Cameron Phillips, love of his life, unflappable and tireless protector, looked like she was about to cry.

Her bottom lip was clenched between her teeth with so much force he was waiting for her to chew right through it, her eyes darting around the room taking in everything but absolutely refusing to focus on the man standing right in front of her. She looked torn between the urge to flee and the near compulsion to obey his orders, and in that moment he had never felt like a bigger asshole in his entire life.

This was why no one but John understood her, because no one else ever got to see this side of her. Though willing and able to lie, steal, and end human life almost on a whim, Cameron was one of the most innocent souls he'd ever encountered. It's what he'd seen in her those first few unsteady months as she fought tooth and nail to understand even the simplest concepts that he took completely for granted. The night she'd discovered chocolate, which had lead to them emptying out nearly half the stock of the local convenience store so she could start compiling her now infamous Enjoyment file designation.

When the Gopher from Caddyshack had sent her into an uncontrollable, fifteen minute tirade of laughter it had scared the hell out of her. In the beginning it was the uncontrollable responses these new emotions caused which had frightened the logic-driven machine nearly to the breaking point. It was in those moments, clinging to him while he explained in the most minute detail just how normal her feelings were that he had found that untouchable part of her that belonged only to him. It was those moments that he'd realized he was completely and irrevocably in love with her.

It was a perfectly condensed example of their relationship. Cameron placing complete and unadulterated trust in his ability to see her through the worst, and in the process reminding him of the humanity he so desperately needed to hold onto himself. She trusted him implicitly and that was why he could barely stand to meet her eyes when she looked like that. Because only he could hurt her like this.

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed every pair of eyes on the room were squarely focused on him, causing a quick pang of anger to flare through him. _This_ was the entire problem. "Cameron, you know that wasn't what it looked like."

Logic was generally your best bet when Cameron was suffering one of her moods, but in this case she just sneered bitterly. "You stared at her breasts for three point one-nine seconds."

"Okay." It was John's turn to bite his lip, "I did do that."

Shaking her head, Cameron looked towards the floor. "It was inevitable."

"What?" Frowning, John tried to step closer only for her to take a matching step back.

"John Connor has many children." A fact. A cold, hard, machine-worthy fact. And in that moment, all the life he'd worked so hard to coax out of her these past three years had seemingly disappeared in the space of a second. "I can't have children. It was inevitable."

"You think that's what this is about? Kids?!" John was incredulous.

"I've already got like twenty of 'em and let me tell you," Glancing back over his shoulder he raised his voice loud enough to let them all know he didn't appreciate being a side-show, "They are a pain in the ass!"

"Corporal Cole was right." Ignoring his outburst Cameron continued, "You need humans. More precisely, you need a human mate. The children of John Connor are important to the time li..."

"Oh, fuck the time line!" Spinning around John let out a vicious growl before kicking over a folding table behind him, half a dozen empty beer bottles shattering on the hardwood floor and sending everyone nearby to their feet in surprise.

He just stood there for a long moment, the entire room frozen waiting to see if Connor was going to come out swinging, his fists clenching and unclenching every few seconds as the tension seemed to visibly radiate off of him. After a long, shuddering breath he turned back to Cameron, the cyborg finally letting him close the distance between them, her concern for his mental state outweighing even the foreign and debilitating sadness engulfing her.

Running his hands up and down her arms a few times he leaned in until his cheek was mere centimeters from hers, his voice barely audible even when compared to the crushing silence. "I am so sorry... it shouldn't have had to come to this. But I love you, Cameron."

She was a bit shocked by the incongruous smile playing across his face when he finally pulled back, "And believe it or not, I'm about to prove it."

If the smile had been a surprise, the tender kiss he laid on her brow had her literally replaying sensory data to make sure it had actually happened. By the time he'd turned back to his men John had ceased to exist, leaving only an irate and rather terrifying Connor in his wake. "I think it's about time we cleared something up."

Glancing back and forth between his nephew and the cyborg Derek finally set his beer down, his stomach not feeling right all of a sudden. "No shit."

Finally deciding on a course of action John let his eyes drift back and forth over the assembled troops, "Hendrix?!"

The poor Lieutenant's face practically screamed 'what the hell did I do to deserve this?'. "Sir?"

"Relax Huey, this isn't a court-marshal." Shaking his head John stepped forward a few paces until he was in the thick of the men. "You flew with me for ten years, right?"

Nodding slowly Mike was feeling brave enough to quirk a brow, "Yes, sir."

"Knew me better than anyone else in this room?"

"Well..." Still looking more than a little reluctant he nodded again, "I guess you could say that, sir."

"Uh huh." John let out a long sigh, "Ever seen me with my shirt off?"

A few nervous laughs echoed through the room but were silenced by a renewed glare from John. "Answer the question Lieutenant. Did you ever see future me with his shirt off?"

"Uh, yeah! Yessir!" Mike quickly admitted, still not sure where the hell his General was going with this.

"Then let me ask you something," Suddenly snagging the gauze still wrapped around his left forearm John ripped it from his limb with nothing more than a quick grimace, shoving the stitched-together bullet wound under the man's face. "Did you ever happen to see this?!"

"No, sir." More freaked out by the man shouting in his face than the sight of a common battlefield wound Lieutenant Hendrix scooted back in his seat a bit, "Your... your barcode was there."

"Hmmm. Really?" Still looking slightly manic John turned to eye the men around them, holding his arm aloft. "Hasn't anyone here ever seen this scar?"

After a few seconds to let his point sink in he made his way back to Mike. "What about his life, Huey? Did he ever talk about his life before the war?"

"Of course, sir." Hendrix had really been hoping he wouldn't come back to him. Apparently his guardian angel had decided to take a paid holiday.

"Did he ever tell you about jumping forward in time eight years to avoid Skynet?" Motioning around the room he extended the question to everyone. "Or organizing for Judgment Day with his mother? Did he talk about finishing high school with a cyborg-slash-supermodel posing as his sister? What about a psychotic girlfriend from the future? Not ringing any bells?"

"What?" John scoffed, "Why did it get so quiet in here all of a sudden? I thought you people knew John Connor?"

"We do know you Johnny." Darla insisted, the scene with the cyborg already having confirmed fears she'd even harbored about his future self. The look he had on his face when she turned to him with those synthetic doe eyes... he was so far gone he couldn't even remember crossing the threshold.

"Then why is it that in all the time you people knew me in the future, I never once mentioned this to any of you?" Leaning back against one of the tables John suddenly looked very tired, "Because I'm John Connor, but I'm not _your_ John Connor. You all need to understand what that means."

"Huey, I have never been in the air with you before. You've never even driven me in a car!" Motioning from person to person he moved along the line, "Reed, I'm not the man who pulled you out of that bunker in Bhisho. I'm gonna be honest - you've told me that story at least eight times and I'm still not even sure I know what country it's in."

"None of you have ever seen me get drunk at my thirtieth birthday party." Rolling his eyes John was fighting to contain more than a year of bottled frustration and anxiety, knowing he was already very close to crossing a whole number of lines. "I haven't even had my twentieth yet!"

"And Darla," Turning at last to Corporal Cole John did his best not to let the look on her face stall his momentum," As much as it might suck for you to hear this, I am not the General you fell in love with."

"Look..." Running a surprisingly steady hand through his hair he couldn't do anything but shrug, "I will fight for you. I will willingly put my life on the line for any one of you, and I swear to you I will bring Skynet to its knees if it's the last thing I ever do. But that's where my responsibility ends. I refuse to wet nurse a bunch of cranky Resistance fighters with delusions of nostalgia."

"None of you owe me anything. If I'm not measuring up to your standards you are more than welcome to pack up and get the hell out of my sight." Rising back up to his full height he set his gaze clearly on Sergeant McGhee, "But make no mistake, I _am_ John Connor, and if you choose to stay you will obey my orders or by God I will shoot you myself."

"Make your choice and make it quick, 'cause I don't have any more time for this bullshit." Taking a few steps in Cameron's direction he caught her eyes and remembered the entire point of his little speech, head quirking back over his shoulder. "And just so we're clear - you can all stop worrying about Cameron, she's my responsibility and officially none of your fucking business. But the next time I hear 'metal', 'whore', 'sexbot', or any word besides her name used to describe my girlfriend, you _will_ have to worry about me. This is your one and only warning."

"How can you choose her?" Darla was incredulous, "_It_?! You're John Connor!"

"Because she loved me when I was John Baum." Shaking his head John tossed an arm around Cameron's shoulders and turned her towards the door, "And I've got a feeling you wouldn't have liked him very much. Tell you what guys, we're going to bed, you give me a call when you decide that dealing with the homicidal AI trying to wipe out our species is more important than who I sleep with."

He didn't bother looking back on his way out of the building, that just wasn't something you could do after making a decision like this.

Complete and utter silence blanketed the room for nearly five minutes after Connor's departure, most simply staring dumbstruck towards the now empty doorway he'd just vacated. Just when the awkwardness seemed to be reaching a breaking point Sergeant Reed leveraged himself up from his chair, hobbled himself over to the refreshment table, and calmly twisted the top off a Coors.

"I'm not really sure what to make o' the speech." Taking a long pull from his beer he shrugged his massive shoulders once, a grin spreading across his scared and weathered face. " 'Cause that's _exactly_ the General I remember."

And with those simple words the world seemed to return to normal, people slowly making their way back to whatever they'd been doing before all hell broke loose. Sarah took a breath for what felt like the first time in minutes, a bit surprised to see Corporal Lorne consoling Darla off to the side, but there didn't seem to be much you could do to make that girl hate you.

Sergeant McGhee looked like he might have shit himself, slowly making his way up the stairs to the barracks proper. Beside her at the table Derek didn't look much better off, his eyes eerily unfocused while the fingers of his uninjured arm drummed monotonously atop the table. Recognizing the same look she'd seen when staring into the mirror the night she'd found out, Sarah came to a snap decision.

"These aren't gonna do the job." Sliding their shot glasses to the far end of the table she poured the tumblers they'd been using for soda into the trash and slapped one in front of Derek and the other squarely in front of herself. Before he could do more than quirk a brow she hoisted the bottle of Cuervo she'd been hoarding beneath the table and filled their glasses to the half-way point. "This... this is a good start."

Glancing back and forth between the woman and the bottle on the table Derek narrowed his eyes at her, "You knew."

"Thank God you didn't find out the same way I did Reese." Downing half her glass in a single long gulp Sarah grimaced, "The tops of my feet are still blistered."

"I so do not wanna know what that means." Not one to be shown up by the fairer sex Derek polished off the entire glass with little more than a hiccup. "Though I have to admit I'm... torn?"

Refilling Derek's glass and topping off her own Sarah nodded side to side, "About what?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled he finally grew a pair of balls." Glancing back up towards the door Reese's gift for boiling down a situation to it's basest components didn't disappoint, "Just a little worried about where he parks 'em at night."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 1st, 2011  
2320 hrs

It seemed out of place to John that he was more frightened by the idea of the conversation he was about to have than the one he'd just concluded. Sure, he'd read his men the riot act, though he was afraid many of them might be too drunk to remember it in the morning, but while he'd talked about Cameron, he hadn't talked _to_ her yet. That was the part that worried him the most.

When he'd started his little speech her cyborg mask had fallen firmly into place and it hadn't budged since. Even as she allowed him to lead her through the house, up the stairs, and finally into his bedroom she never even looked at him. Closing the door behind them with a sense of finality John decided it was time to face the firing squad, stepping squarely in front of her and doing his best to meet her eyes, his own guilt making the task exceedingly difficult.

"I know what you're gonna say." He cut her off even before the expected tirade could begin, "'I shouldn't have done that'. I know. But if I didn't do something soon I was going to lose my freaking mind. I can't spend the rest of my life pretending to be something I'm not Cam, and I will never be that guy."

"You already are." Cameron shook her head slowly, "You just proved it."

Having not really expected that, John was a bit taken aback. "What?"

"The General stopped worrying about the opinions of others a long time ago." Cameron insisted quietly, "He understood that unpopular decisions must be made to win the war. He expected those who followed him to obey his orders or face the consequences."

John couldn't help but smirk slightly, "And you couldn't have explained this to me a year ago?"

"It wasn't my place to do so. This was something you had to discover on your own." Stepping forward to rest a hand on the undamaged side of his face she frowned, "I lied to you John."

"I know." Swallowing past the lump in his throat he forced a sad smile, "John Connor doesn't have friends in the future."

"But as you made very clear earlier tonight, that future no longer exists."

"It's alright." John sighed, "I'm apparently not very good at the whole 'friend' thing anyways."

Cameron quirked a brow as he turned away from her, moving slowly around the room while continuing his monologue.

"I paint a target on anyone that gets within a hundred yards of me, and I refuse to risk people because of some weak need for human contact."

Shaking her head at her human's always unpredictable moods Cameron approached him from behind, making sure to keep her voice low and soothing. "That was the mistake future John made. His isolation drove a wedge into the Resistance that nearly cost us the war. You would be wise to avoid his mistakes."

"So I just accept that these people will die because of me?" Cameron's stealthy movements meant he nearly gave himself a heart attack when he spun around to find her directly behind him.

Fixing John with her patented 'are you slow?' look the cyborg was insistent, "Skynet's goal is the eradication of the entire human species John. Their proximity to you simply moves them to the front of the list. Their fate would be the same regardless of your choices."

Whether from the look or the effect of her words, John was certainly feeling slow at the moment. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"I usually am." Seeing that spark of humor in the corners of her eyes brought a wave of relief he would have never believed possible from such a simple display. "And I'll be here to help you."

"Always." Her promise was punctuated by a deep and lingering kiss, her hands framing his face.

After a much-needed second to catch his breath John nodded, "So... you're not mad? About my decision to tell the men?"

"It will complicate things considerably." Cameron admitted with brow-crinkling frown that usually indicated her logic centers were warring with her emotional responses.

"I know." John could only shrug sheepishly, "It was stupid, and impulsive..."

The cyborg cut him off with another kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth with the same focused determination she attacked every task with. No sooner had John pulled back to figure out just where the hell this had come from than he was propelled backwards onto his bed, the smile on his girlfriend's face cutting off any words his quickly scattering brain had been in the process of forming

"You're right John, you shouldn't have done that." The look in Cameron's eyes was anything but chastising as she shed her tank-top and unclasped her belt to let her pants pool around her ankles, revealing the silky lavender bra and pantie set she'd bought earlier that day. "But you are about to be very happy you did."

* * *

Connor Compound

Pueblo Colorado

March 2nd, 2011

0910 hrs

The early morning light cut through Sarah's closed eyelids with all the subtlety of a freight train, shocking her mind into an awareness she was neither prepared for nor wanted. Jagged icepicks digging into the back of her skull were quickly forgotten the moment her stomach started trying to spin-cycle it's way up into her chest, reminding her vividly of the more difficult mornings during her chemo. This time however she knew John wouldn't be coming through the door to carry her to the bathroom and feed her saltines while she berated him for neglecting his training. He was probably still in bed with Cameron...

_And the nausea returns._

Groaning softly, less out of any kind of exclamation of discomfort than a general protest against the unfairness of the Universe, she tried to toss the crook of her right arm up over her eyes. The reason she was trying rather than succeeding became abundantly clear when the warm, heavy arm pinning hers to her side shifted a bit in protest against her attempted adjustments, a...

_Holy shit. Rewind!_

There was tequila. Sarah vividly remembered tequila. _Lots_ of tequila.

And the yelling. There had been more than enough of that.

Beyond that though, it was just a series of random images and the sinking feeling that always accompanies knowing you've done something but not remembering it in the slightest. The chest hair prickling along her naked back and the sweet soreness between her thighs left little doubt about the pieces she was missing though.

The arm and the accompanying hand resting atop her stomach offered little clue as to the owner's identity, so she closed her eyes and tried to will herself to remember just how stupid she'd been last night. She had a pretty clear recollection of Derek's response to John's frank declaration in the barracks. Then came the tequila and the fuzzy effects that always seemed to accompany it.

There was a vague memory of... dancing? Which was odd, because Sarah hadn't danced since before meeting Kyle.

_Kyle... Oh shit._

She hadn't! Had she?

Sure, she and Derek had flirted and sparred since their first meeting, but there had always been that vivid and uncrossable line between them. Sarah wasn't sure she could ever forgive herself for taking that step with her son's uncle, Kyle's brother...

Feeling her gut revert to it's previous default spin cycle she let out another groan, this one most definitely an exclamation of discomfort. Barreling out of the bed without a backwards glance she bolted straight for the bathroom, ignoring the startled exclamations of her bed-mate while plowing through the partially closed door. She barely managed to get the lid and the seat up before emptying the, mostly liquid, contents of her stomach into the bowl.

The coolness of the tile beneath her folded legs was a shock of relief to stressed and protesting muscles, a sharp contrast to the continuous spasming as her vomiting devolved into a long and painful coughing fit. Swiping the inevitable tears from her eyes and brushing her hair back behind her ears irritably she berated herself for her own stupidity.

How many times had she herself given John 'the speech'? Who had made 'keep your head in the game' the family motto? Well, the short answer was the woman currently trying to dislodge bits of last night's pizza from the back of her throat.

_And I wonder where he gets it from._ _Yeah, big mystery there._

The sound of running water beside her shocked her back from her little pity party, cutting off a second later before a warm, strong hand came to rest on the small of her back and began rubbing up and down her spine soothingly.

"Hey..." Presenting the glass of water with an uncertain smile, Charley laid a soft kiss on Sarah's burning forehead. "You alright?"

Letting slip an exhausted breath Sarah hadn't realized she'd been holding she nodded slowly, accepting the glass and leaning back into the strong torso behind her. "Yeah. I'm fine now."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's note - Thanks as always to my beta Bigbew who just updated his story, I Wouldn't Be Worth Much If I Couldn't Feel. wasn't expecting the response the last chapter got, but it was necessary for the story. John never would have had the balls to come clean with his men if something hadn't forced his hand. The other two scenes might seem a bit out of place but after the last few chapters I thought the characters needed a bit of a repreive from the drama and possibly even a few moments of happiness before the fight ahead.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, good or bad if you take the time to write something down know that I take it into consideration and appreciate your input. Sorry if I miss anyone: Bigbew, Bryan0711 (believe me man, your precious Darla will be redeemed :~) ), Olishulu, Tarja, Kaotic2, Annara Ren, xxshyangel29xx, Bigfan, Fullhans1, Morded, Lee443, Vudu, TSCCforlife79, Firespray, XxDeathStarxX, Hando, JB, LJM, Gypsy069, Cybergades, TK-MR, Nordwest (who never disappoints), Edesign (my new #1 fan, you go amigo!), Savannah123, AnnaK, and Chase.

Please take a moment to review and let me know what you think.


	15. Chapter 15

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 15/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/19/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 15 - 'When the Man Comes Around'

***************************************************************************************************************************  
Fort Benning, Georgia  
Operational HQ - 75th Ranger Regiment  
March 2nd, 2011  
0730 hrs

"I.D. please, Captain." The Corporal manning the door couldn't help but look a little sheepish, most likely well aware that he was the third person to ask anyone navigating this particular hallway, and thus had probably been putting up with attitude all day.

Justin decided to spare the kid any grief, never one to put the hurt on a guy for following orders. Still, while pulling his security badge a couple feet out by it's cord so the Corporal could scan it he couldn't help but be curious, "You got any idea what's got the brass scared of their own shadows? I haven't seen a shitstorm like this since 9/11."

"No, sir." The kid smirked while nodding side to side, "I just scan the badges."

Feeling a bit stupid for asking in the first place he returned the Corporal's salute and breached the last door into the Ops Center, Colonel Banks catching his arrival from the corner of his eye and tossed his head towards his office. The room was a hive of activity, techs pouring over screens with what seemed to be standard satellite imagery and a shit load of mug shots. The tac. table was now one big map of the continental United States, a series of red pins stretching across a large portion of it with the standard notations marking any active units nearby.

Quirking a brow as he rounded the corner into his superior's office he waited for the door to close before snapping to attention in front of the Colonel's desk. Banks shuffled a few files into place before taking a seat opposite him and motioning towards the couch against the far wall, "At ease, Captain. You must have a lot of questions."

"Thank you, sir." Sliding onto lumpy cushions that had obviously been slept on more than once Justin nodded, "Sir, is there an invasion going on I don't know about?"

"Ah, you noticed the maps." Breaking out into a smile the Colonel tossed an intel packet into the Captain's lap. "That's why I wanted you Perry, you've got an eye for the little things."

Flipping open the file Captain Perry had to suppress a low whistle at what he found within. Captains rarely got to look at anything with this many Top Secret stamps across the top. "Someone planning to hit us, sir?"

"Already did, three times in the last six days." Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge beneath his desk Todd let slip a weary sigh, "We don't have a lot of time and we need you and your boys in the air ASAP, so I'll break it down real simple. We've got public relations nightmare waiting to happen and the people in charge want it fixed yesterday."

Slipping quickly into combat mode Perry nodded, he'd figured it must have been important when they canceled his unit's redeployment to Afghanistan. "OpFor, sir?"

"At least a dozen tangos in-country, maybe more." Colonel Banks took a long pull from his water, "These boys are home grown, Captain. Real nutjobs. Everybody and their brother has been on their asses since the early nineties but you wouldn't know if you asked around. FBI, CIA, NSA, all of 'em of have taken a swing and caught nothin' but air. No one really gave two shits till they suddenly reappeared this week and started blowing up the Southwest. So the black suits did what they do best when they fuck up - they kicked it down to us to deal with."

"Americans?" Flipping through the file was like browsing a family album. Mother, son, sister, acquaintances... this wasn't exactly a typical counter-terrorism brief. "What, IRS take their yacht or something?"

"That's where it gets interesting, Captain." Rubbing away at the bridge of his nose Banks pulled on his reading glasses before breaking open his own copy of the brief. "No political motives. No demands. No grand pronouncements. Just some cockamamie bullshit about the end of the world and a serious hatred for anything with more computing power than a toaster. I'd say they were just harmless fringe wackos if it wasn't for this last attack."

"Local law enforcement got some strange reports from some farmers near an industrial park in Nebraska, sayin' they heard gunshots in the middle of the night." Swiveling his computer monitor around so Perry could see the satellite photos displayed on it. "Long story short is that this particular company happens to have some very good friends in the Defense Department due to their work on some second-generation UCAV, apparently the damn things can all but fly themselves. I'm real fuckin' impressed. Bein' a little reluctant to let Sheriff Numb-nuts go traipsing around where he might see something he shouldn't we decided to look into it in-house."

Pointing to the upper left hand corner of the screen he punched a key and magnified the image. To Perry it looked like any one of a dozen combat zones he'd seen over the years, a couple slagged APCs surrounded by burnt out cars and scattered bodies, a building in the north still burning brightly enough to blur the edge of the image. "How the hell did we not hear about this?"

"I was gettin' to that." Smirking slightly the Colonel punched another key, "This one is forty-five minutes later."

"Holy shit..." The fire on the northern building had been extinguished, both APCs removed and a veritable fleet of vehicles from tow-trucks to bulldozers were already well into their cleanup effort. "They tried to cover it up, sir?"

"Hey," Tossing his hands up in the air Banks shrugged, "If you were a defense contractor would you wanna be the guy whose security forces, likely fielding _your_ shit, got chewed up and spit out by a bunch of Unabomber wannabes?"

"No, sir." Perry was forced to concede, "Doubt that would positively effect the stock ticker."

"Well, you'd be right." Flipping a few pages further into his brief the Colonel punched a few more keys, "Now we have no idea where these guys are at the moment, but we have a pretty good idea where they're going. Shortly after the attack on Kruger Industrial there was an coordinated assault on a semi-truck in Northern Arizona, it was transporting materials to one of Boeing's sub-contractors just north of Austin, Texas. Now, you wanna hazard a guess as to what that particular sub-contractor has been working on for the last two years?"

Perry quirked a brow, "The new UCAVs?"

"The very same." Banks snorted. They'd both been in this business long enough to know coincidences were almost never that. "There's only one more company involved in the venture, so I suspect that's a pretty good place to start."

"Understood, sir." Returning his brief to it's manila folder, Perry rose from the couch with a nod. "Where we headed?"

Checking his monitor one last time to confirm the destination the Colonel smiled, "Sunny San Francisco. You can thank me later."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 2nd, 2011  
0845

"But I donwannapuppy." John grumbled unhappily, burrowing himself further into Cameron's shoulder.

She'd stopped trying to make sense of his nighttime utterances a long time ago after determining that humans themselves didn't seem to understand the purpose and research into the field was incredibly contradictory. For instance, she was under the impression that most humans found small, fury mammals to be cute, adorable, or in Corporal Lorne's words, 'snuggle-tastic'. It made no sense to her why John wouldn't wish to possess one, let alone why the prospect of such ownership would put him in such a foul mood.

Cameron on the other hand was in an exceptionally good mood, especially considering the way the night before had begun. Though she was admittedly apprehensive about the seriousness of John's declaration, made as it was during coitus after a night of drinking. Her files indicated humans often didn't remember their words or actions while intoxicated, or upon later reflection decided they were done precipitously. Her emotional state being what it was as of late, she genuinely hoped this wasn't the case.

Letting her eyes drift closed as she often did when lounging in bed with John, Cameron tried her best to share in the experience by performing the closest function she had to dreaming - replaying through pleasant and calming memory files.

John's face immediately filled her field of vision, skin flushed with passion as he smiled down at her, the stumbling cadence of his words an odd contrast to the seemingly decisive man he had become. "I just... I think it would be a good idea."

Cameron thought it would be a good idea if he started moving again, but didn't point that out to her human. Instead she could feel her head tilt slightly to the left, hair spilling onto one of the hands he was using to hold himself above her. "Why?"

This obviously wasn't the response he'd been looking for, apprehension warring with embarrassment across his face. Rather adorably, he tried to cover it by nuzzling into the gap between her shoulder and neck, his lips and tongue lavishing every inch of skin he could find. "Because, I'm... well, I'm supposed to lead the Resistance right?"

"Right." Running a hand slowly over the sweat-slicked skin of his back she smiled reassuringly.

"Well," Releasing a sigh as Cameron's nimble fingers drifted along his neck and up into his hair John fought to keep his brain from turning to mush. Sometimes he believed she did this on purpose. Apparently deciding two could play at that game he pulled back long enough to meet her for a toe-curling kiss, gratified to see her irises glowing slightly as they finished. "We're gonna be meeting a lot of new people. Training recruits, establishing cells behind the lines..."

"Ohhhh, that's not fair." Despite his words Cameron was pleased to feel John tilting his head to the side to further expose his neck to her sensual assault, her teeth skimming lightly along his jugular in their never-ending game of dominance. "I just don't see myself having time to have 'the talk' with every new group that rolls in. Like I said, it's just easier this way."

Releasing his earlobe from between her teeth the cyborg pulled back to meet his eyes, "Is that the only reason?"

"I love you, Cam." Leaning down to kiss her softly she finally got her wish as John's hips resumed their slow, steady rhythm, providing the sensations only he ever could. "We've been living together for three years...you're already a member of the family, this just makes it... lower. There we go. Besides, if we want to... avoid incidents like... last night..."

"Yes, John."

Her words caused him to stop again, earning a small huff of annoyance from the girl beneath him. "Yes, what? Yes, we need to avoid incidents like last night? Or yes, you'll..."

"Yes." Rolling her eyes a bit Cameron tugged him down for a kiss, grinding her hips against his invitingly. "I'll be your wife."

That had been the end of the discussion, John drifting off into an exhausted sleep an hour later and leaving her to ponder the ramifications of becoming Cameron Connor. Obviously it could never be official, with John's status as a fugitive preventing the necessary legal documentation, which made her wonder just what, if any, kind of ceremony he had in mind.

Her internal clock flipping over to 0900 had her eyes snapping back open, smiling slightly at the man snuggled up beside her before disentangling herself as delicately as possible and pulling her clothes on, the black tank-top and jeans had practically become her uniform as of late. If she'd learned anything about John since they'd begun a sexual relationship, it was that his appetite was always greatly magnified the morning after. Considering the amount of alcohol Cameron had seen Sarah Connor consume the night before, it was unlikely she would rise early enough to make him breakfast, and with a long day of mission preparations ahead John simply couldn't be allowed to go without.

Besides, she was sick of pancakes.

Stepping out into the hallway and closing the door softly behind her, Cameron quickly descended the stairs only to nearly slam headlong into Corporal Lorne as she came out of the downstairs bathroom.

"Ah! Crap!" Jumping up and down while trying to cradle the toes she'd just slammed into the door jam Rachel pouted, "Someone needs to put a bell on you!"

"John keeps threatening to do that." Cameron provided helpfully, gripping the woman by the shoulders to keep her from toppling over while trying to hop around on one foot.

Finally managing to rub most of the sting out of her toes, Lorne lowered her foot to the floor experimentally before actually letting her weight settle onto it. Shoving her chestnut hair back over her shoulders, her ever-present smile returned full force. "Now that I'm back within factory specs, how are you this morning?"

"John will be awake soon," She nodded towards the stairs. "I was going to prepare his breakfast."

Nodding along the young woman shrugged, "Wait. You look like that _and_ you cook? If they ever figure out a way to reproduce you the rest of the female population is screwed."

Remembering something John had said once the cyborg's lips quirked up involuntarily, "They don't know what to do with one of me."

"Touche`"

"Hey..." Lorne quirked a brow, "You don't sleep, right?"

"Right." Cameron confirmed with a smile, pleased someone finally took notice of the fact. Maybe she wouldn't have to repeat it quite as often anymore.

"Then... what do you do? I mean, while John's sleeping?" She blushed a bit, "If you don't mind me askin'."

Cameron however saw no reason to be embarrassed, "He didn't sleep much."

"Oh." For a few long seconds Rachel looked totally lost, then... "_Oh_. So you two...?"

"Frequently." The cyborg's smile grew even wider.

"Look like that," Lorne ticked her points off on her fingers, "Cook, never have to sleep, and you put out regularly?"

At Cameron's nod she shook her head, "Yep. I officially hate you."

Easily picking up the humor in the words she didn't take offense, but still couldn't figure out what the Corporal meant. "I don't understand."

"It's like this," Threading her arm through Cameron's, Rachel smiled indulgently. "Do you know why women hate sluts?"

Happy to answer a question she thought she had the answer to the cyborg smiled, "Because they're bitch-whores."

"Well, kinda. It's because they're like China." Nodding side to side Lorne's grin only grew wider. "See, sex is kind of like the economy. Most women want to keep supply low to drive up the price, but sluts flood the market with super-cheap crap of obviously inferior quality, and it drives down the price for all of us."

"And..." Cameron's brow quirked comically.

"And," Bumping her shoulder into the cyborg's Rachel's grin grew even wider, "You're makin' the rest of us look bad. Reign it in a little or the union is gonna revoke your woman card."

Nodding quickly Cameron returned the girl's shoulder bump experimentally, nearly knocking her across the hallway in the process. "I'll do my best."

"Good." The smile suddenly fading from her face, Rachel pulled Cameron back a few steps before she could enter the kitchen. "I wanted to catch you before you saw the men this morning."

"There are some things about the squad you might not be aware of." Chewing on her bottom lip the Corporal exhaled sharply, "It wasn't like I was keeping it from you... I just didn't know it would be important. I didn't know about you and John."

"Is John in danger?" There was no doubt in Lorne's mind that the wrong answer to that question would likely result in Cameron storming from the room and ripping soldiers limb from limb. With her bare hands.

"No, not John." Shaking her head she continued in a low voice, hoping to placate the suddenly panicky looking cyborg. "I don't even think they'd do anything to you... directly. But Cole is, well, she _was_... have you noticed that none of us but O'Brien really spend much time with her?"

To Cameron, the answer to that little riddle had always seemed simple enough, she herself wouldn't spend time in the Corporal's company if she wasn't required to. "I hadn't thought about it."

"It's because we didn't know her Cameron. Before, I mean." Rachel shrugged, "She was like me, a replacement. Darla had served under Reed when she first joined the Resistance, but he hadn't seen her in more than four years when she was transferred back to his squad, only three months before we were all sent back."

Glancing towards the kitchen Cameron could feel her fists clench involuntarily, "What was her position before the transfer?"

"That's just it, we didn't know. No one did, not even Sergeant Reed." Pulling Cameron up the stairs a bit she lowered her voice to avoid being overheard, "She still won't talk about it but it didn't take us long to figure out who she was. _What _she was. The way she fought, the almost fanatical devotion to Connor, and once we moved into the barracks it wasn't long before she slipped up and we caught sight of the tattoo."

"Just above her pantie line." Rachel snorted, "Fucking bullseye if you ask me."

"A barcode?" It seemed obvious to the Cameron, she must have been incarcerated with John and Kyle in the future. It would explain her intimate knowledge of him as well as all of the things her friend had just mentioned.

Clearing her throat uncomfortably the Corporal shook her head, "A double-H Cameron."

Even the cyborg was shocked into silence. The double-H, as the soldiers typically referred to it, was a tattoo worn only by Connor and a select few of his highest ranking security operatives. It was a double-helix strand of human DNA wrapped around the blade of a downward pointing sword. "She was field intelligence?"

"She was a problem solver, Cameron." Desperately hoping her friend would get the point Lorne sighed when Cameron merely quirked her head to one side at her statement. "Look... what good would an intelligence service do against Skynet? You can't interrogate a machine. We already have people who can hack their chips, this didn't come until later."

The lights seemed to come on behind Cameron's eyes, "Traitors. She located traitors for John."

"Located... and disposed of." Glancing back over her shoulder a shudder ran through the young woman, "To Darla, John is nothing less than Jesus Christ. Understand? And she takes heresy _very_ seriously. This woman has been killing for Connor most of her life, taking out his garbage without question. If she feels she's owed something from John...:

Tossing her hands in the air Rachel tried to smile reassuringly."So just... just be careful, okay?"

"I'm always careful." Cameron assured her with a small smile. "But, thank you."

Almost as if on cue Darla entered through the front door, flashing a smirk in the cyborg's direction. "'Morning Cameron. How's the hand? Hope you didn't snap anything off loverboy that he might need."

She was laughing to herself as she slipped past the two and into the kitchen, shaking her head side to side.

"Cameron." Rachel shook her head pointedly, "Don't let her bother you, alright? This is what I'm talking about, she's just trying to mind-fuck you."

"It's alright." Smiling faintly the cyborg motioned for Lorne to go on ahead of her to the kitchen. "Go get some food. I need to do something before I make John's breakfast."

Still looking skeptical the young woman nodded. "You sure you're good?"

"Don't worry." Smirking over her shoulder as she began ascending the stairs Cameron's eyes twinkled with amusement, "I'll be back."

The Corporal wasn't the only one who could fuck a mind.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 2nd, 2011  
0918 hrs

"I'm just sayin'," Heaping a second glob of the runny goop O'Brien was trying to pass off as scrambled eggs onto his plate, Private Carmack smirked from behind his sunglasses. Normally it might have been odd, what with them being inside and it being nine in the morning, but when you're this hung over questions like that just go unspoken. "Like you haven't wondered at least once."

Already seated at the table Coons looked up from her meal long enough to lob a hunk of roll into the back of her friend's head. "You are a sick fuck, Dooley. I swear to God you'd stick your dick in a hole in the ground if someone drew a smiley face around it."

"I dunno," Pulling the chunk of roll out of his hair and chewing on it thoughtfully Carmack shrugged, "Is there like a bow in it's hair? Something to signify it's female?"

"Oh God..." O'Brien scoffed into her coffee.

More than sharing the Private's sentiments Claudia shook her head in exasperation, "You hearing this shit, Amanada? You see what I have to deal with on a daily basis?"

"Oh yeah." Dropping into the seat next to his best friend Dooley didn't even take a breath before plowing into his food, no hesitation at all despite the obvious signs of a level 5 hangover. "And you've just been a fuckin' tea party yourself there with all the 'my kidney, my kidney! Oh how will I ever survive with only one?' "

Pointing his fork at her tauntingly his smile was enough to make her want to punch him all by itself, but the words coming out of his mouth didn't help. "Two tips: Piss more often and shut the hell up about it already!"

Raising his fork with her steak knife Claudia let a single brow rise in challenge, "I could always take one of yours."

"And this is where I shut up." The Private's quick retreat had the table dissolving into a fit of painful laughter and Coons scruffing his spikey hair, much to his irritation.

Surprisingly chipper despite his arm still being in a sling and drinking more than twice what anyone else at the table had the night before, Derek glanced up from his Cheerios long enough to get one in on Carmack while he was flailing. "She at least let you have your balls back on the weekends? Some kind of joint custody thing?"

"Hey! My balls are right where they sh..."

Tossing an arm over his shoulder, Coons could barely control her laughter. "Just eat your eggs, Dooley."

"Eatin' my eggs..." Grumbling under his breath, the Private did exactly that.

Shoving her own pile of liquidy goop around with her fork brought Claudia's eyebrows together, "Even if they do taste like the ass of a New Jersey cab driver."

"I tol ooou nod ta mack meh coo," Was all O'Brien could muster in her defense at the moment. It probably would have been more articulate if she'd taken the time to finish her bite of peanut butter toast before replying. She was smart enough to avoid her own cooking, which begged the question why every two weeks when her slot on the rotation came up these mental midgets still insisted she take her turn in the kitchen.

"Still." Darla poked aimlessly at what she could only assume was a mutilated chunk of the meatloaf Reed had made... last week. "You don't have to punish us."

"Consider it payback." Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, Lorne glanced back over her shoulder. "Do you have any idea how much you pissed off Connor with that little stunt?"

Rolling her eyes Darla tossed her hands up, "Hey, in my defense, most guys don't have a fucking aneurysm when they get handed a pass for quality sack time."

Draining the last of a bottle of orange juice into her glass Rachel sighed. "Most women know how to take a fucking hint."

"I really don't see how this is any of your business Corporal." Sharing an exasperated look with O'Brien, Darla skewered the woman with a warning glare.

"Don't strain yourself Cole, thinking obviously isn't your thing." Obviously unruffled, Lorne retook her seat across from the woman. Darla might be a spook, but Lorne was a front-line Tech Com veteran. The only things that scared her had red glowing eyes. "And it's my business because we're all about to be locked in a tiny bunker with the man riding out nuclear winter, so I'd rather he be in a good mood."

"Relax." O'Brien didn't miss a beat, "That's what he's got your friend 'General Phillips' for."

Frowning, the Corporal set down her fork. "They don't ask for much, Amanda."

"I mean." Making an impatient growling noise in the base of her throat, Lorne looked around the room. "How hard can this be to understand? I'd think it would be pretty intuitive at this point - you wanna survive? Try not to piss off the savior of all mankind and the chick who can twist your arms off! I swear to God you people can be the dumbest bunch of inbred tunnel rats this side of..."

"That'll be enough, Corporal." Barely able to contain his smile, Sergeant Reed limped his way in for breakfast, the billowing cloud of cigar smoke following him enough to make those of weaker constitution at the table turn a little green. "But Lorne's got a point. Father had a saying: don't shit uphill from the well. Connor is your bread and butter folks - best not forget it."

Grabbing a plate from the pile the older man eyed the pans littering the stove and counter top dubiously, "O'Brien's turn again?"

"Yeah, Sarge." The redhead shrugged sheepishly, her smart-ass demeanor squashed the second her superior entered the room. General Connor could easily stomach malcontents, the Resistance tended to attract them in droves, but he never did hazard a stupid trooper. She knew when to shut up.

Snorting, Reed turned his attention to the refrigerator. "In that case, I think I'll make a sandwich."

"A wise choice, Sergeant." Cameron's smile was stretching practically from ear to ear as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. It wasn't the look on her face that made her the sudden center of attention though, it was her choice of clothing. A group of soldiers who lived together were understandably lax in their standards of ceremony, most content to treat the common areas as if they were their own home and acting accordingly. On days like this where hangovers were in the air you were lucky if everyone remembered their underwear before stumbling in for breakfast.

Though lacking a true sense of modesty, the soldier's presence on the grounds meant Cameron treated anywhere beyond John's bedroom as hostily territory, never entering it without being completely dressed and suitably armed. Which was why, despite the fact the entire room was similarly attired, she now looked a bit out of place padding barefoot into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of John's boxers and the black shirt he'd been wearing the night before, which was nearly a short dress on her slight frame.

Cameron was pleased with the response of the room, satisfied she'd made the point she was trying to - that the facts remained the same in the cold light of day as they had the night before and these soldiers needed to adapt to it. Humans often viewed rules as becoming less binding as time progressed and circumstances changed. Time was not a factor for her.

Easily ignoring Private O'Brien's apparently sudden bout of nausea and Cole's withering glare she tossed a demure wave in Rachel's direction, the Corporal nearly choking on her food at her friend's choice of attire. She'd been worried about the effect Cole's games would have on the emotional cyborg, but was quickly wondering if she might not be worrying about the wrong person in that matchup.

Gathering up the pots and pans she would need to prepare John's meal Cameron offered an easy smile to the Sergeant reclining against the counter beside her, "Good morning, Mr. Reed."

"Morning, ma'am." Willis inclined his head a few inches in her direction. "General hurtin' after last night?"

"I imagine he will be if he ever decides to get out of bed." Most of the room looked surprised at the cyborg's attempt at humor, the first time she'd done so around anyone but Rachel. "Thank you for your concern, Sergeant. John wanted to meet with you at your convenience to discuss relocating some of the heavier equipment to the permanent HQ prior to the assault."

"Lets give the lad a chance to get some food in him before I go botherin' him with industrial freight fees." Frowning into his cup of coffee, Reed lowered his voice. "Anything you could do to make sure he's in a decent mood would be appreciated, ma'am."

Quickly analyzing the skillet's exact temperature with the pad of her index finger, Cameron nodded, "He'll be in a better mood if I don't burn his breakfast."

"Someone say breakfast?" Rubbing the back of his nearly shaved head awkwardly, Charley rounded the corner into the kitchen. Cameron quirked a brow, noting that the direction of his arrival indicated he'd come from upstairs rather than the front door leading to the barracks.

Her unasked question was answered to her satisfaction as Sarah Connor padded in a few steps behind looking nearly as unkempt as the medic, arms folded across her chest as she wearily surveyed the room. "Smells great. Who's cooking?"

"I am." Scraping John's eggs onto the plate Cameron deposited a smaller portion for herself on the one beside it. "John's breakfast."

"Figures." Shaking her head while eying the disaster area the impatient soldiers had turned her kitchen into, Sarah paused in front of the plates the cyborg was preparing. Leaning down she drew a deep breath, a grudging smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "Shouldn't have let me smell that Cameron. You're officially on the rotation."

"What?"

"Hey, I may not be in charge of much here Tin-Miss." Pausing to grab her own cup of coffee from the maker Sarah shrugged, "But I'm in charge of supplies and rationing, which means I can still put you on kitchen duty. John wants you on the team? Fine. You can slave over the stove like the rest of us."

Head quirking to one side Cameron shot her a perplexed look, "I protect John. I don't...

"Have you tasted O'Brien's cooking?" Snorting into her coffee on her way to the table, Sarah's gaze was dubious. "You'll be protecting all of us."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 2nd, 2011  
0952 hrs

The first thought entering your consciousness as your brain hard-boots itself from a deep and much needed slumber should not be 'who dropped a fucking truck on me while I was sleeping'.

At least that was John's opinion, but reality apparently had a different interpretation. An interpretation which sucked ass.

"Ooooohhh God." Sitting up became too much work about half way through the ordeal so he slumped back down onto the pillows with a grunt. Not like he wanted the day to begin anyways. That meant eventually having to go downstairs for a headcount and actually having to face the consequences of his decision. The being decisive part he was starting to get a handle on, the having to weather the fallout part was more complicated. And... unpleasant.

It had seemed like such a good fucking idea at the time, it _really_ had. The opportunity to finally unload the chip he'd been carrying around for more than a year while solving the problem with Cole and getting his relationship with Cameron out in the open - all at once! Why the hell hadn't he considered it before?

Unfortunately, in battlefield terms, he'd just brought a tactical plan to a strategic fight. It solved his short term problems but may well have cost him dearly in the long run. Here they were, a month before Judgment Day, about to assault a fortified Skynet front with an already undermanned squad riddled with walking wounded, and he'd lost his shit because of his 'feelings'. He literally heard the word in his head in his mother's mocking voice.

As a man he was perfectly comfortable with what he'd done, even a little proud of himself for standing his ground and going with his gut, something Connors were good at. As the General he was supposed to be... as John Connor, leader of the Resistance, he had just royally screwed the pooch.

In the end though, that more than anything might have cemented the difference in their minds. Regardless of what they expected, John wasn't going to sacrifice his own humanity to beat Skynet.

People were going to die, he couldn't control that, but he could control the actions of the soldiers under his command. He wouldn't save humanity from genocidal bigotry just to watch them turn around and exercise it on another sentient race whose only crime was being created by a master bent on destruction. Yes, in Skynet's hands the machines were to be feared and respected for what they were - the second finest killers ever to walk the face of the Earth. And yes, as a whole, Skynet was unquestionably and irrevocably evil.

But individually? They were victims, no different than the humans herded into camps and forced to labor under their guns. Evil lies as much in intent as it does in action, and in John's mind you couldn't be evil if you'd never been given a choice.

He wasn't naive, he knew he couldn't save everyone, but that doesn't mean you just give up on them all either. John knew the next few years would revolve around trying to find the balance, when he should help... and when he should run. The hard part was accepting that letting good people die would at some point be necessary, sometimes one more body is all it takes to capsize the entire lifeboat.

Shoving stiff fingers into his hair he let out one final groan of protest before leveraging himself into a sitting position, the blankets falling down to expose his surprisingly white ass which was uncharacteristically naked for....

_"You're right John, you shouldn't have done that." The look in Cameron's eyes was anything but chastising as she shed her tank-top and unclasped her belt to let her pants pool around her ankles, revealing the silky lavender bra and panty set she'd bought earlier that day. "But you are about to be very happy you did."_

Unable to control his smirk as he caught sight of said panties in a rumpled ball between his bed and the door John laughed, an action his head didn't appreciate much."Okay... maybe not such a dumb decision after all."

"Still, pants." Curiously unable to locate the boxers he was sure he'd tossed onto his desk chair the night before he snagged a fresh pair from his top drawer and hobbled into the bathroom. To say the sight greeting him in the mirror left a lot to be desired would be a dramatic understatement. Part of him couldn't believe Cameron had come near him looking the way he did, but another figured she probably didn't care any more about his 'damage' than he did about hers.

Dark splotches dotted the majority of his midsection ranging from the traditional purple and black he was used to, to a greenish-yellow color he wasn't sure he'd ever encountered before. Then again, he'd never seen sustained combat or been dropped off a building before either. He'd never gotten around to re-bandaging his left forearm after his dramatic display the night before, both sides of the through and through wound a mass of angry red broken only by the black of the stitches. He made a mental note to re-bandage it ASAP, Charley would have kittens if he saw it exposed to open air.

The wounds on his face still hurt like a bitch and looked like hell, but John imagined he had better get used to that.

In a display he himself didn't entirely understand but would later attribute to a combination of a horrible hangover and a whole lot of stress John started laughing at the mirror, "So, how was your first week of work, Johnny?"

"Oh, fantastic! Yeah," Trying to catch his breath before his bruised ribs caved in he leaned against the bathroom counter, "Blew up a lot of cool stuff - still can't hear out of my left ear. I mean, I hear stuff, it's just that it's stuck on the 'all buzzing and popping' station and dial doesn't work anymore."

"Met a lot of interesting people - killed some of 'em. It's cool though, they were totally trying to kill us." Nodding to himself in the mirror he continued his tirade, "Went rock climbing - wouldn't recommend it. Came clean with the men about having sex with the enemy - wouldn't recommend that either!"

"Oh! And the best part?" Tears forming at the corners of his eyes John started to wonder if he really was losing it. He vaguely remembered reading somewhere that insanity was genetic, which if true, didn't bode well for him considering this conversation. "One week in the field and I already have a nemesis! I shit you not! How cool is that? I mean I had Skynet to deal with, but to be honest I was thinking about branching out into the private sector. Not enough on my plate, you know?"

"Then in comes this guy Sarkissian with a private army and boom!" John clapped his hands together, "This is like comic book villain stuff. Years of back story, two families locked in a struggle of death and betrayal with the fate of the world hanging in the balance... it's the fucking Wrath of Kahn! Which is awesome... unless you're Spock."

Finally coming to rest on the toilet lid John released a shuddering sigh, head falling into his hands as his laughter trailed off. "Proposed to my girlfriend during drunken sex."

"Don't even have a ring." Shaking his head John had at last circled back to the real reason for his mini-freakout "Real romantic John."

"Fuck." Shoving himself to his feet and running some cold water in the sink he tried to find some humor in the situation, "With plans like this no wonder I beat Skynet. Its advanced brain could never hope to compete with this level of stupid."

His little monologue was interrupted by the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing quietly. Splashing a few handfuls of water over his face and swishing the worst of his morning breath out into the sink, John put on his best fake smile and made his way back into the bedroom.

Cameron glanced back over her shoulder at him with a warm smile, and he was forced to admit that he honestly couldn't remember her ever being in a better mood. Cyborg emotions weren't exactly like those of humans, the primary difference he'd noted being that they tended to feel only one thing at once, and because of that it was almost always amplified. A human might be happy while still pausing occasionally to worry about his bills piling up or the neighbors blaring their music. A human greiving for a lost loved one could still find happiness in the company of friends.

But when Cameron was happy, she was... radiant. It effected everything she did, right down to the way she seemed to dance through a room on the tips of her toes rather than walking. Unable to resist, John wrapped his arms around her from behind, peaking over her shoulder to eye the tray she was setting down on the nightstand. "'Morning Cameron."

"Good morning, John." Dropping a quick peck on his cheek she pointed towards his breakfast. "You should eat quickly, Sergeant Reed has been informed of your meeting and will arrive in forty-five minutes."

"Okay." Eying her a bit suspiciously he settled back into bed, pulling the tray onto his lap. Her bright mood and the breakfast in bed seemed an odd contrast to her sudden focus on work. "I was hoping to grab a shower but I guess it can wait until after."

"I'll keep that in mind for the future." Dropping a kiss on his cheek she set about tidying up the room, straightening the various piles of maps and paperwork into separate folders and picking up the soiled clothing that found their way into every spot in the room except for the laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Unable to settle into his meal while she was darting around the room John tossed his fork back onto his plate, "Alright. Spit it out."

Placing a thermal undershirt she'd just pried from the small space between his desk and dresser into the basket under her arm, Cameron quirked a brow. "Spit what out?"

"I know that look Cameron, you're about to blow out a processor." Sliding over a few inches and patting the bed beside him John smiled, "Considering how much I unloaded on everyone last night I figure it's only fair you get a chance. What's going on with you?"

"Over the past year I've observed you closely John." Setting the laundry basket down Cameron came to rest beside him on the bed, "As you've tried to figure out your place here and what you were supposed to do. For all intents and purposes my mission has become whatever I decide it is, so while you were making your decision, so was I."

Nodding along, John couldn't help the bit of pride that slipped into his voice. "That's great Cameron. But what does that have to do with the new attitude?"

"When you offered to make me your wife it presented me with a possibility I'd never considered before." Trying to think of the right words to express it to her human Cameron's brow cinched, "A new way to complete my mission. As much as I appreciate you entrusting me with command responsibilities, I refuse to take on anything that interferes with keeping you from harm. As a commander I would be distrusted, I know you are trying to change things, but you underestimate the hatred Judgment Day will create for my kind."

"As a bodyguard I would only serve to distance you further from the humans you're supposed to be saving." She shook her head before he could deny it, "Future John never understood either. You see it as placing a wall between the humans and Skynet, they see us as a wall between them and you."

"I don't understand." John was starting to get worried, despite her sunny disposition this was skirting dangerously close to a Dear John letter. "Are you saying there's no way for us to be together?"

"I'm saying that I've decided to make your mission my mission." Trying to ease his obvious distress she kissed him softly. "As your wife. I can be all of those things, a fellow strategic mind, a bodyguard, and most of all... I can keep being Cameron. No direct rank to threaten your commanders, no visible barrier between you and your people."

"Is that all?" Glancing up with a smile he repeated her words from the night before.

Pleased her lover obviously retained a full memory of the night before Cameron smiled, "And I get to keep you."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Dropping a kiss on her cheek a thought seemed to occur to him. "Hey, grab that bag by my desk would you?"

Gathering up more clothing along the way with an exasperated sigh Cameron retrieved the small shopping bag he'd been carrying since their trip to the mall. John patted the bed beside him, digging through the contents for a moment before pulling out a small box and presenting it to Cameron as she took her seat beside him.

"Now," He prefaced sheepishly before she was able to remove the lid, "It's not exactly a ring. I admit I hadn't really planned this... and well, I figure a traditional ring would just get smashed the first time you had to punch a Triple-8..."

"John." She interrupted his quickly accelerating words with a vibrant smile as she eyed the black leather bracelet he'd bought her. "It's perfect."

"Good." It was more a relieved exhalation than a word, but John powered through, helping her rig the buckles into place around her left wrist. "I know we can't do this the right way... but that doesn't mean I'll take it lightly. I don't want anyone to doubt who I'm dedicated to."

"Still," Taking a small slice of apple off his plate and popping it into her mouth Cameron reclined back against his chest, head in her customary place over his heart. "I wouldn't tell your mother right away."

"Really?" Shrugging, John dug into his food before Cameron could steal any more of it. The cyborg had her own plate still resting on the nightstand but was apparently content with poaching his. "She give you second thoughts about being a Connor?"

Cameron actually pouted, "She put me on kitchen duty."

"She wants you to bond with the men." John placated, clearly fighting a smile.

Cameron just stared at him for a long moment with a single brow raised until he finally cracked, "Okay! She's punishing you. What do you want from me? On the sliding scale of Sarah Connor revenge tactics this barely rates a 2. Which you should be thankful for, because anything above a 4 rates at least a pistol whipping."

"I understand." Dropping a final kiss on John's cheek she picked up the laundry basket from the floor and calmly, coolly, overturned it above the foot of the bed, every article within raining down to cover John's legs.

"Hey!" Tossing his hands in the air John fixed his fiance` with a perplexed frown. "What the hell was that for?"

"What do want me to do John?" Cameron smiled sweetly, "On the sliding scale of Cameron Phillips revenge tactics that barely rates a 2, which you should be thankful for, because anything above a 4 rates limb removal."

Without another word she turned on a heel and departed the room leaving a bemused John to the remains of his breakfast, "I knew I should have gotten a ring."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's note - It's about to get serious so I figured everyone could use a bit of a break and the soldier's reactions had to be showcased somehow. Hope everyone enjoyed a slightly more fluffy chapter.

Thank you as always to my beta Bigbew, who still puts up with my horrible slave-driving ways. Sorry if I miss anyone, Kaotic2,Bigbew, Gypsy069, olischulu, Julian Carax, xxshyangel29xx, fullhans1, kalapaat, XxDeathStarxX, edesign (really digging the long reviews amigo, very thorough), KingSteve (I love your work man, honored you finally reviewed), Lee443, Annara Ren, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, savannah123, NordWest, Dragon Seraphin


	16. Chapter 16

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 16/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/30/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 16 - 'Operation Eben'

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 2nd, 2011  
1135 hrs

Cameron stepped into John's room a mere hour and a half after leaving him to mull the consequences of taking her future mother-in-law's side during a disagreement, a fresh cup of his favorite coffee a silent peace offering she'd resorted to more than once in the past after her 'incidents'. Luckily, this time all she'd done was dump a basket full of his dirty laundry on him, which was far preferable to the cake she'd had to bake after smashing his IPod. Though in her defense, the device had provoked her repeatedly.

It was often their less intense disagreements which seemed to illicit these disproportionate responses, which made a strange kind of sense to the logic-driven cyborg. During their more heated arguments she was prepared for an emotional response and could actively sift through her impulses before they manifested into physical actions. It was the more subtle emotions, like annoyance, which tended to sneak up on her when her guard was down. It was a lesson the infuriating Apple product had learned too late for its survival, but John seemed to slowly be adapting to.

Her apology was impeded before it had a chance to begin though, as she tried to make sense of the scene confronting her. A quick check of her internal chronometer confirmed it had been only been an hour and a half, though what she was seeing was nearly enough to convince her she'd jumped twenty years into the future.

John was hunched over in his desk chair, pen clenched between his teeth while pounding away a mile a minute at his laptop, a devious smile quirking up the very corner of his lips. One trait nearly everyone who knew the man in the future could attest to was the complete single mindedness he attacked a new problem with. It wasn't uncommon for the General to lock himself away for days or even weeks at a time to perfect a new idea or strategy before unleashing it on the enemy.

It was a simple matter to access the memory file containing the man's last 'brainstorming' incident before she was sent back, the scene overlaying her HUD in the space of a millisecond.

_The harsh clang of the blast doors cycling behind her didn't phase the General in the slightest in his position hunched over the beaten sheet metal desk containing dozens of maps and diagrams, a red grease pen flying across the sheets as he made necessary notations and filed them away for distribution to the various cells. As Cameron approached she made a point to produce as much noise as she could, vividly aware of the consequences of surprising John while his mind was elsewhere. Coming to a halt three paces behind him she lifted the dented and slightly rusting cup in front of her, "I brought tea."_

_"Cameron." The General nodded idly, shoving a sheaf of crumpled papers in her general direction before returning to his work. "Energy output estimates from Serrano. I need you to check their numbers and find every spare kilowatt they've missed. I don't care if we deplete our entire pile in the process... if this works this time line won't matter anymore anyways."_

_Now comfortable enough he was aware of her presence the cyborg closed the distance between them, setting the steaming cup of 'tea' in it's customary place on his desk. The bitter concoction of consisted of boiled vegetable roots and various cobbled together spices which smelled revolting to Cameron, but John often claimed it calmed his nerves. "I'll compile the figures for you. It will take approximately three hours to complete, you should rest while I..."_

_"I got word this morning from Reed's platoon." Taking a long swig from the cup John pointed idly towards a stack of communiques on the corner of his desk, "At least two Triple-8's made it through before we captured the facility."_

_Cameron nodded once, the reason for his current attitude now readily apparent. She knew how much the decision to send Kyle Reese back in time had weighed upon him both before and after the event. "Who are you sending back?"_

_"I...," John cringed visibly, "I need those figures ASAP, Cameron. I've got techs running lines as we speak and we need to find enough juice to power this thing. Topanga nearly overloaded our grid and I don't need that kind of headache while we're still trying to..."_

_"John." One of the few people who would ever dare to intuerrupt him, Cameron had grown accustomed to his evasions. They often impeded her ability to execute her duties and thus she had little patience for them. "Who are you sending back?"_

_Running a hand over the stubbled and heavily scarred side of his face, John sighed before tossing his pen down on the desk, an odd air of finality in his tone. "The only person left that I trust."_

Cameron was knocked back into the present by the sound John's wheeled desk chair rumbling across the hardwood floor as he retrieved a stack of papers from the foot of his bed before kicking off again and returning to his laptop. Far less worried about potentially upsetting _her_ John, she cleared her throat slightly while setting the steaming cup of coffee on one of the few clear spaces atop his desk.

"Coffee?" John didn't even bother looking up as his fingers danced across the keyboard at what seemed to be an ever-increasing rate. "Awesome. Unless it's decaf, in which case you can dump it in the toilet."

"What are you working on?"

"At the moment?" Head bobbing back and forth on his shoulders he paused just long enough to consider his answer, "I've got Wilson hacking the FAA's flight plan database to snag a few specific transponder codes we're gonna need and modifying a flight-plan or two. After 9/11 you can't be too careful, and getting blown out of the sky by F-16s isn't part of the new plan, so we hack. He's also neck deep in San Fransisco's DMV and the Social Security office creating totally legit I.D.s for Privates Coons and Carmack."

"Private Coons only has one kidney." Cameron asserted, earning an odd look from her boyfriend. Apparently he was under the mistaken impression she was the one acting strangely, yet another sign of potentially delusional behavior.

"Um, yeah? She only needs one for what I'm planning, Cameron." John continued pounding away at the keyboard, Alt-Tabbing between the various tasks faster than most people could flip through television channels. "They're expecting us to hit them the same way we did in Nebraska and they've prepped accordingly. Multiple layers between the outer wire and the central facility. Wilson's been able to identify at least forty-five security personnel by listening in on their comm traffic."

Tabbing quickly to the facility's blueprints he ran his finger along the life of three hills overlooking the entire complex from the east. "Whoever is running their security must be ex-military because they've managed to shut off all viable avenues of advance from the ground with these overlapping fields of fire. Like I said, they're obviously expecting us to plow in firing from the hip like we did last time."

Quirking a brow, Cameron brought her left hand down to rest on the back of his neck, preparing to knead the inevitable tension she was astonished to find that though his pulse and heart rate were slightly elevated he showed virtually no signs of a stress-related response. "John?"

"I had it backwards, Cam." His sharp bark of laughter caught her completely by surprise, "I planned the assault on Kruger from start to finish and we barely made it out alive. You had to improvise on the move, ended up hitting that truck like Jesse James taking down a money train and you walk out without a scratch."

Unable to follow his train of thought, much less make any sense of it Cameron was starting to become increasingly worried about his sudden change in attitude. "What does that..."

"Then it hit me! Square peg - round hole!" Shaking his head John finally spun away from his keyboard, draining half the cup of coffee before continuing. "I've got a group of the most devious, resourceful, and patently violent people on the face of the Earth and I'm trying to line 'em up across from the enemy like it's Gettysburg. It's like trying to make Derek a cop. Wrong plan, wrong frame of mind... no, no, we've gotta find our groove. We've gotta work to our strengths."

Catching the odd gleam in his eyes that she'd only before seen in those of his future self, the sudden lack of fear and doubt, as well as factoring in the excessive amount of stress he'd been under lately, Cameron could only come to one conclusion - she'd broken her human's brain. "You're not making any sense, John."

"Good!" His incongruous smile only seemed to confirm her suspicions. "That's what I'm going for! But I need some help."

"Psychiatric or medical?" Cameron frowned.

"That was pretty good. Derek give you that one?" Chuckling to himself while snatching up the folder he'd been compiling for the last hour John tossed it into her lap. "Lets get to work."

* * *

Goose Lake Heliport  
Northern California  
March 3rd, 2011  
0745 hrs

"Cameron," Sarah frowned pointedly while trying to adjust her thigh holster into a position that didn't prod areas no firearm was welcome in, "If anything happens in there your first priority is John."

For her part, the cyborg looked up from the road just long enough to regard the woman in the passenger seat with her patented 'no shit' look. Luckily, John intervened before his mother could tell her exactly what she thought of that look.

"Would you all just relax?" Pulling off his sunglasses with an exasperated sigh from his position in the back seat, "It's gonna work!"

"In fairness John," Finally readjusting the leather strap she'd been fighting with for ten minutes Sarah tugged her skirt back into position, the fact she was wearing a skirt into a firefight only one of many problems she had with this operation. "Bad plans almost always begin with someone saying 'I swear, this is gonna work.' "

"Do people doubt me this much in the future, Lorne?" John smirked while turning to address the Corporal seated beside him, happy at least someone appeared to be enjoying themselves.

"I don't know what their problem is, sir." Rachel pointed idly towards the front of the car, "I think it's a great plan and I'm excited to be a part of it."

"Kiss-ass." Sarah snorted, "Still, you do clean up nicely Corporal. Better than my son, apparently."

"Hey." John did his best to look offended while picking at the navy suit he'd had to borrow from Charley. "I've been in Judgment Day mode for the last year, alright? How was I supposed to know I'd need a suit?"

Cameron didn't miss a beat, "It's _your_ plan."

"The plan that I pulled out of my ass the day before the assault." The younger Connor at least had the good grace to look a little sheepish, the confident veneer he'd been cultivating since the day before cracking slightly. "In an effort to save your sorry asses I might add. Little appreciation here?"

"I'll give you that much John," Checking her makeup in the rear view, his mother's tone had him wondering why he'd brought her along in the first place, "As far as 'birthed-from-the-ass plans' go, this one isn't half bad."

"Thank you." Tucking his favorite Glock into the back of his pants John resisted the urge to remind her just how more than a few of her own plans had panned out over the years. It would be bad for morale if he was gunned down in the car before the mission even started.

"I mean, what's not to like?" Sarah deadpanned, "Stealing a CEO's helicopter to fly a four-man strike force into a fortified compound with nearly fifty armed security personnel and a highly advanced cyborg with standing orders to terminate you on sight. Cakewalk, right?"

"See? That's the attitude I like to see, right there." Taking a deep breath as they pulled into the small, private helipad John forced a smile. "A little positive thinking here and there, that's all I'm asking for."

"And just for the record," Slipping his sunglasses on with a flourish and hefting the briefcase he'd brought his 'tools' in, John slipped out of the car with a confident swagger. "I've have it on pretty solid authority that I rock this suit."

Chambering a round into her .45 USP and depositing it in her purse, Cameron wilted a little under Sarah's penetrating stare. "What? He looks good in a tie."

* * *

Rural Road 18  
Santa Rosa, California  
March 3rd, 2011  
0835 hrs

"Yeah," EMT Jeff Herbert killed the siren as they pulled up behind the teal Saab parked off to one side of the road, a middle-aged black male sporting a bald head, full goatee and dressed to the nines in a tailored business suit flagging them down frantically. "We've got 'em dispatch."

Quickly gathering up his supplies, his partner Nick was out the passenger side door even before he'd shifted the rig into park, he himself catching the end of the man's explanation when he caught up.

"... and he just collapsed!" Quickly escorting the medics around to the passenger side of the vehicle, opening the door for them before stepping out of the way.

"Don't worry sir," Nick assured him with an easy smile, escorting him quickly and efficiently back from the car, "Your friend is gonna be just fine."

Confirming the man had a pulse, Jeff was tossing out information to his partner as fast as he was able to ascertain it. "White male, mid-thirties - pulse and respiration are steady."

"Sir, does your friend have any prior medical issues that might account for this..." Jeff trailed off half way through his question when he caught sight of something odd on the man he was examining. Having shoved aside the collar of the dark gray sweatshirt he was wearing to get his pulse, it had exposed the bright white of an EMT uniform beneath the fabric. "What the hell?"

It was too little too late though, because by the time he turned his head to warn his partner all he could do was watch Nick crumpling to the ground as the 'worried friend' brought his sidearm crashing down on the base of his skull. Momentary worry was overshadowed quickly however, as a sharp prick on the top of his thigh brought his attention to the apparently very conscious man he'd just been examining.

"For what it's worth, buddy," The man flashed him a sympathetic smile, the world whiting out around the edges as he pulled the emptied syringe away from his leg. "I am _really_ sorry about this."

* * *

Striker Logistics  
Norwood Industrial Plaza, Sonoma California  
March 3rd, 2011  
0925 hrs

Security Director Marcus Doolittle tried to downplay his amusement for the sake of the sheepish looking couple standing across the desk from him. The girl looked slightly older than her spiky-haired boyfriend and also infinitely more embarrassed by the situation, tugging the plackets of her hooded sweatshirt more tightly across her midsection, her pale skin slowly approaching a more beat red complexion. Marcus couldn't say he blamed her, this wasn't exactly his day-to-day either. "Okay... from the beginning."

"We headed up to the top of hill six to investigate what one of your guards had called in as a quote 'suspicious fucking vehicle.' " Sergeant Ernsberger looked only slightly less embarrassed then the kids standing to his right. "Given the heightened state of alert at the compound, Captain Perry had me suit up a response team of two squads to investigate."

Marcus nodded impatiently, "I know that part already, Sergeant. Lets get to the part where you felt the need to bring a couple of kids through six layers of security to tell me this?"

"Um, well sir... you see." The young Sergeant scratched the back of his head nervously, "Captain Perry said he didn't think it would be prudent to..."

"Scrape away the bullshit son."

"He 'didn't have the time to hand-hold a couple of kids and protect your precious research at the same time, so I should hand them off to corporate security so you might feel useful for a couple minutes.' " Ernberger cringed slightly.

The girl across the desk snorted out loud, "Wow - you left out all the best parts of that tirade. Tell him the bit about bending over to reach up his own..."

"Claudia!" Her boyfriend forced a smile while covertly stomping on her toes, and Marcus could have sworn he heard the kid hiss 'quit improvising!' "Look, sir, this has all been a _big_ misunderstanding. Some friends of mine told me about this romantic makeout spot, obviously I took a wrong turn somewhere."

"Pretty big wrong turn, son." Letting out a long sigh, Doolittle smirked slightly. "But I was young and stupid once too. Your car was clean, your drivers licenses check out as valid, and you're both of age, so I'm inclined to let you off without calling the police this time."

"I'd imagine that after being surrounded by a platoon of Army Rangers you'll be more careful about where you choose to conduct your little escapades." Shaking his head he was just about to send them on their way when the walky beside his computer sprung to life, the Captain's distinctive gravely voice demanding his attention.

"Perry to Doolittle! We've got an unscheduled arrival - helicopter with corporate markings." Perry's tone left little doubt about his mood, "I thought I told you to explain to these guys that they can't just come in and out of my air-space without informing me? It's gonna look real bad when one of them catches a stinger in the ass!"

Pulling up the day's schedule with a few quickly punched keys, the Security Director felt a brow quirk up unconsciously as he reached for the walky, there weren't any flights scheduled for today. He never got a chance to make that call though, as the room exploded in a sudden flurry of violent motion. The spiky-haired kid literally lept over his desk, snagging the older man's hand before his sidearm even cleared the holster and yanking it up behind his back, the other found it's way to the back of his neck and brought his cheek slamming down onto the desktop.

The good Sergeant fared even worse, not even managing to turn around before the girl beside him slammed a ridge-fist into his throat, spun him off her lowered shoulder and slammed his head into a nearby filing cabinet. Calmly gathering up the soldier's weapons, locking the door, and zip-tying the man in a far corner, she tossed a wry smile towards her partner in crime. "You know, I'm starting to see why Cole prefers fighting humans. One little tap to the fucking skull and it's all over."

Holstering her pilfered .45, she retrieved a small earpiece from her pocket, popping it into place and punching the activator. "Team one in place, sir. Door is open."

Letting up the pressure on the Security Director's arm just a bit after relieving him of his pistol, Private Carmack tried his best to provide the subtlety his partner in crime sometimes lacked. "We don't have much time, so I'll make this simple. We're not here for you and we're not here to hurt anyone. All we want is what you've got locked in the basement. You play ball and we'll be out of your hair inside the hour."

"But if you fuck with us, we'll have to carve our way out of this place the hard way." Deciding that subtlety was sometimes overrated, Dooley cocked back the hammer of the Director's sidearm before leveling it on the man's temple. "Starting with you."

* * *

Striker Logistics  
Norwood Industrial Plaza, Sonoma California  
March 3rd, 2011  
0935 hrs

"Perry to Doolittle! We've got an unscheduled arrival - helicopter with corporate markings." Justin growled into his satellite unit, "I thought I told you to explain to these guys that they can't just come in and out of my air-space without informing me? It's gonna look real bad when one of them catches a stinger in the ass!"

He honestly couldn't believe this shit. Less than 24 hours on site and absolutely nothing had gone to plan since his arrival. The corporation's security contingent was a bunch of middle-aged rentacops with virtually no proper training and no idea whatsoever about how to secure the facility against a potential terror attack. Until yesterday they didn't even require their employees to carry ID badges! People coming and going at all hours with no warning, cleaning crews, vendors, and half a dozen motorists lost on the twisting hillside roads leading to and from the complex.

In the end he'd decided to concentrate his forces where they could do the most good and where they'd feel most at home, scattered along the hillsides along the only viable avenue of advance. These bastards had smashed their first two targets by bringing massive and unexpected force to bare against untrained civilians, if they tried that here he'd repave the southern road brain matter gray. He left the rentacops where they could do the least amount of damage if shit went haywire, well behind the lines inside the facility itself. Besides, the brass had nearly had kittens when he'd insisted they needed men inside, the secret nature of the base's research apparently _way_ above his pay grade.

Rolling his eyes in barely contained frustration he motioned for the man beside him to lower his stinger, the helicopter was nearly on the pad by this point anyways. "At ease Corporal, just keep an eye on 'em."

"Fucking amateur hour." Perry was just about to vent his frustration on the still unresponsive Security Director when his radio finally sprung to life.

"It's not 'your airspace', Perry. It belongs to the company and they decide who comes and goes, yeah?" Doolittle sounded winded, fat bastard had probably had to run from the bathroom. "Boss decided to bring in some outside consultants to look at the new tech. Real last minute thing, even I didn't know until a little bit ago. I'll make sure they notify you the next time."

"Roger that." Deactivating the unit with a growl, the Captain nodded towards Corporal Jenkins. "Everything check out?"

Adjusting his field glasses, a barely contained smile started spreading across his face. "Yes, sir. Four people exiting the bird, business attire, no weapons. Dammmmmmn, but a pair of legs I wouldn't mind having wrapped around my...."

"Corporal!" Perry was in no mood.

The younger man quickly composed himself. "Um, sorry sir."

* * *

Striker Logistics  
Norwood Industrial Plaza, Sonoma California  
March 3rd, 2011  
0945 hrs

Quickly descending the stairs into the research complex, John couldn't help but toss a wry smile over his shoulder towards his mother, "Told you so."

"Don't push it, John." Despite the grumpy glare she was trying to summon, Sarah couldn't entirely suppress a small smile of pride. So far, the operation had gone off without a hitch.

They'd received word from Charley and Ellison en route confirming they were in position a few miles up the road. Carmack and Coons had the security office on lock-down so they didn't need to worry about the cameras or any surprise alarms, and every time they hit a locked door all they had to do was radio the pair to buzz them through, negating even the need for a keycard. Cole and her squad were waiting near the perimeter to charge in guns blazing if things went south.

Earlier skepticism aside, it looked like they might just pull this off. Of course, there was still the small matter of disabling what was sure to be a very uncooperative T-888, which in spite of all the security they'd had to bypass to get to this point, was still the most dangerous part of the operation.

Finally exiting the drab concrete stairwell they found themselves staring across nearly the entire floor. Though divided into separate rooms and hallways, from roughly waist-high they consisted of what looked to be clear plastic or fiberglass. Dozens of people were moving through the area, most clad in long white lab coats, a few supervisors clustered near the far end, easily identifiable by their lack of obvious purpose and their five thousand dollar suits.

Ducking behind a reasonably cut-off workspace cluttered with surplus server equipment, Sarah could feel her heart trying to hammer it's way straight through her chest at the prospect of navigating through that much open ground.

A few steps ahead of her, John tossed up a closed fist and brought his other up to cover his left ear. "Alright, we've reached the eighth floor, which way from here?"

"Wait a minute." John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "You're telling me that's the only way into the basement?"

Her auditory sensors easily able to pick up both sides of the conversation, Cameron frowned. "This complicates things considerably."

"Someone mind cluing me in here?" Sarah tried and failed to check her irritation at being left out of the loop.

With John still arguing with his earpiece, Cameron decided to bring the rest of the squad up to speed. "The only way to access the basement is through a single secured elevator."

"So... what? We need a key?" Rachel shrugged, "No biggie. I'll just clobber some scientist and we'll be right as rain."

"Coons can easily override the elevator from the Security Office," The cyborg shook her head, "The problem is that the blueprints clearly showed the basement being a single room, dimensions: twenty-four by thirty-six meters."

Sarah groaned, "So, we're attacking a Triple-eight in one big room, with one entrance, that's going to announce our arrival and keep us confined to a four foot vertical coffin while the doors open?"

"Pretty much." Cameron could only shrug by way of apology. "You're welcome to hide behind me when the time comes."

Attempting to lighten the mood a little, Lorne tried her best to look offended. "Then where the hell am I gonna hide?"

It hurt a little bit when the first thing a sentient machine and the mother of the boy she'd recently made into a man agreed about was your poor choice in humor. Rachel pouted, "Sounded funnier in my head."

"Lets move." Shaking his head, John motioned for them to proceed to the elevator. Arguing about who had screwed up wouldn't change anything and the longer they stayed in this hallway the greater their chances of being discovered. Tossing a genial nod in the direction of a pair of techs coming in the opposite direction he covered the last twenty meters to the secured elevator as fast as he could without drawing undo attention to the group.

Still, none of them started breathing again until the doors had sealed and the cube had filled with the familiar, if absolutely atrocious, sounds of easy listening.

Gaze locked stoicly forward, John didn't say a word until they passed the second floor, quickly thumbing the emergency stop and dropping down to his knees. "Gear up."

Slipping the suit jacket off his shoulders he tossed it into the corner of the elevator before thumbing the release for his briefcase, two extended clip Glock 18s and a half pound of plastique nestled away under yesterday's sports section. Clipping his shoulder holsters into place, John accepted one of the light tactical vests Cameron had smuggled inside her laptop case, tossing it over his head and slapping the Velcro tabs into place.

He imagined they all looked a bit ridiculous, decked to the nines in business attire about to walk into a firefight, but that was one of the big upsides of the plan - it was unexpected. Despite it all though, the way Cameron was pulling off that skirt had him flirting with the idea of making it the Resistance's standard uniform.

_Focus John!_

"Alright," Running an eye over the squad one last time to confirm they were as ready as they'd ever be he did his best to sound confident. "When we engage the target Coons is going to pull the chemical contamination alarm. The research floors will go into lock-down, and no one in their right mind will try to breach the perimeter until they get the all clear. Hopefully the troops outside will assume any explosions are linked to the accident and stay the hell away, but the chaos of the evacuation should buy us time regardless. After the target is neutralized Charley will arrive with the rest of the emergency responders to evac us, understood?"

Accepting their nods and ignoring their skeptical looks he turned back to the doors and leveled his pistols, "Lets do this."

"Hey, John?" Sarah placed a comforting hand on her son's shoulder, finding her own comfort by hefting her UZI into position beside him.

Eyes locked on the doors as he flipped the switch to restart the elevator, a soft jolt was the only signal they were headed into the fire. "Yeah mom?"

Shaking her head with a rueful smile as they came to a rest at the bottom of the building, Sarah just couldn't help herself. "Told you so."

Every human in the elevator released an uncontrolled burst of laughter, causing Cameron to seriously wonder about the oddness of stress-responses. She didn't have long to consider their frame of mind though, as the doors clanged open a second later and all four figures poured out into the confines of the subbasement.

They'd barely made it two steps when the entire room was plunged into utter darkness, rendering everyone besides the cyborg blind in an instant.

"Fuck!" Ducking behind what he could only assume was a desk to his left John cursed himself for his own stupidity, stuck in a blacked-out basement without so much as a lighter, let alone a pair of NV goggles. "Cameron, do you have eyes on the target?!"

"Negative." Never allowing more than an arms length to separate her from John, she detected only one humanoid figure in the room and it was obviously female. "I can only see one person and it appears to be a woman."

Growling to himself, John brought a fist down onto the top of the desk. "Secure her and see what you can do about getting the damn lights back on."

It was only then that the figure stepped fully into view, causing Cameron to halt on her way to obeying John's orders. But before she had a chance to warn him of the change in circumstance, the woman announced herself with the most disinterested of tones, the familiar Scottish lilt freezing every human in the room to the bone.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Mr. Connor."

* * *

T.B.C

Thanks as always to my beta, Bigbew. I've been out of touch for the last week or so though, so any mistakes in this chapter are mine.

I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to review and let me know what they think of the story, it really makes all the time and effort you put into your writing pay off. So, thank you to all who reviewed, sorry if I miss anyone. Moocow, Annara Ren, Bigbew, King Steve (that might be the most coherent drunk review I've ever seen. Cudos on that), Gypsy069, Nordwest, Angelica, Lee443, ljm, necro-wulf, Dragon Seraphin, XxDeathStarxX, xxshyangel29xx, fullhans1, kalapaat, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, olischulu, and of course Kaotic2.


	17. Chapter 17

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 17/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/19/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 17 - 'Barbarossa'

* * *

Connor Household  
Los Angeles, California  
April 13th, 2009  
2245 hrs

"All warfare is based on deception." Slouching down a few inches further into the recliner he'd dragged in three weeks earlier when Sarah was originally confined to bed rest, John tried not to yawn while reciting the words he'd read so many times he no longer even had to consult the aged paperback on his lap before continuing, "When able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near."

John couldn't help but frown at the sight of the plate of food he'd brought in earlier, where it lay still almost completely untouched on the corner of her nightstand. "Mom, I know my cooking isn't exactly Iron Chef material, but you need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry." It never ceased to amaze him that no matter how bad she looked, Sarah always had enough energy left to growl at him. "And you need to stop worrying about me, John. There's nothing you can do and the sooner you understand that the sooner you can get back to what's important."

"This _is_ what's important." Moving the plate onto the bed beside her, John returned to his position on the chair.

"Besides," He lifted the book in front of his face, obviously citing the compromise they'd reached the week before. "I'm holding up my end of the bargain, mom. As long as I'm studying, you're eating, understand?"

She glared at him for a solid thirty second before lifting herself off the pillow enough to pick at the fruit Cameron had clearly prepared for her. No human could divide an apple that precisely. One of the only things that had allowed Sarah to hang on as long as she had, to endure the treatments that were making her life a living hell and causing John to dangerously lose his focus on the future, was the idea that when she was gone, her little boy would be left alone with the just the cyborg and his recently absentee uncle.

Finally deciding that if she could stomach eating nothing but snake meat in the jungles of Panama for weeks at a time she could work past her nausea long enough to get John off her back she tossed a hunk into her mouth and chewed slowly, her son's voice returning at once.

"One must hold out baits to entice the enemy." John couldn't help but smirk a little at the thought, his mother having finally accepted his 'bait' and given in. "One must feign disorder, draw him in, and crush him."

Sarah groaned, "I've had enough Sun Tzu to last three lifetimes John, can't you just read silently for once?"

"You need to know this stuff too." Tossing the paperback to the side he thumbed through the stack of reading material he'd accumulated since his mother had taken ill halfheartedly, "What if something happens to me? What if I'm injured, incapacitated, or just plain sick? Can't just run to the corner pharmacy after the bombs drop, I need you to know everything I know in case you have to pick up the slack."

"John," Sarah let out a weary sigh, "You have to accept that I won't be..."

"Clausewitz will just put you to sleep." Though he ignored her protests as he always did, Sarah's attitude of late had clearly taken a toll on him. He only left her room to use the restroom, cook meals, or sleep, though it was obvious to anyone he hadn't been getting nearly enough of the later. "I could break out that copy of _Achtung - Panzer!_ that Derek bought me, but my German is a little rusty. I'm gonna be honest, I usually just have Cameron translate 'em for me anyways. Don't tell him though, okay? I've got him convinced I can read like twelve languages."

John chuckled, "Maybe I should have her come in and read it to you? She's got a much more soothing voice, though even Cameron can't do much for German."

"John..."

"You're right, it's not really applicable anyways," Tossing the book into his steadily growing 'discard' pile he shook his head. "I doubt we'll have many tanks in the Resistance."

Sarah's frown deepened, "Will you listen to..."

"I've made that point about a lot of this shit." John motioned to the pile, not entirely hiding from Sarah the way he used the other hand to swipe angrily at his face. "But Derek just keeps pushing it! 'So what if you don't use tanks, dumbass? When they programmed Skynet to fight their wars for them, what do you think the programmed it with?'"

By this point she was practically pleading,"You don't think this is hard on me too?"

"I'll give him that much," Leveraging himself back out of his chair John stormed over to the window, refusing to look at the woman on the bed. "You should know your enemy, know what he knows. Still, Clausewitz might have been a genius, but he didn't know dick about fighting cyborgs toting plasma rifles. Machines with no fear, with no morale... with only horrible resolution."

"John!"

It was in that moment, staring out the window into the murky horizon where dusk collided with night that he made his decision. He crossed a line and knew instinctively that there was no going back. "I've got things to do."

Ignoring the confused and increasingly worried expression overtaking his mother's face, John dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. "You can take care of yourself for a while, right?"

Shrugging into his jacket without a backward glance he hustled from the room, snagging Sarah's Jeep keys from the dish atop her dresser and bolting through the house. He knew exactly where he was going. He knew exactly what he was doing.

_All warfare is based on deception._

And despite all of his faults, Sarah had raised a warrior.

* * *

Striker Logistics, A Division of ZeiraCorp  
Norwood Industrial Plaza, Sonoma California  
March 3rd, 2011  
0959 hrs

"My, don't you all look stylish." Catherine clapped her hands together once, bright halogen light again flooding the room and temporarily dazing its human occupants. "I was aware of Ms. Phillips' predilection for fashion, though I'm a bit surprised she roped the rest of you into it. I'm particularly fond of your ensemble, Sarah. Especially the addition of the tactical vest, an admittedly risky choice, but very... post-apocalyptic chic."

"And Mr. Connor, it's nice to see you've outgrown that tiresome grunge phase," The redhead's smirk was as confident as it was infuriating. "Though I think I preferred the haircut, you look a bit like a Chia Pet."

"Nice to see you too, Weaver." Holstering his sidearms with an exaggerated eye-roll John slipped out from behind the desk he'd been using for cover with as much dignity as one could muster after being successfully ambushed.

"Ummm... sir?" Lorne was starting to feel like the odd one out, with no idea what in the hell just happened. Unsure exactly what to call the enemy in her CO's presence after his little speech the other day, Rachel frowned. "Is she normal or... shiny?"

"No pulse on that one." Letting slip a weary sigh as the adrenaline flooding his system finally began to dissipate, John collapsed into the desk chair beside him. "But it's alright, she's with us."

Looking at her son like he'd just sprouted a second head, Sarah scoffed, never lowering her Uzi for a moment. "There's no way to know that, John."

"Oh, come on." He motioned over the desk towards the liquid metal Terminator as if that ended the argument by itself, but when all his mother did was quirk a pissy brow he forged ahead, "If she wanted us dead she could have taken us apart before we managed to find the light switch, let alone started attacking her. She's a Terminator, mom, not a James Bond villain. AIs don't waste their time gloating."

"I think you'd be surprised, Mr. Connor." Nodding once at the man's astute grasp of the situation, Catherine allowed a ghost of a smile to manifest. One thing was sure, the man across the table was no longer the volatile teen the T-1001 remembered. Though staring into the face of an enemy capable of tearing him limb from limb, it appeared to the outside observer he was in complete control of the situation, idly drumming his fingers atop the table while waiting for Catherine to explain herself. "Skynet can be quite verbose when it wants to be."

"Good for Skynet." Shaking his head, John motioned for the others to take a seat while glancing idly around the room. "I didn't realize ZeiraCorp had an autonomous weapons division."

His gaze narrowed, "Seems like something you might have mentioned to me the last time we talked."

"The last time we talked, Mr. Connor," Catherine took on the chastising tone she'd perfected on Savannah the past few years, "You were only interested in one thing, and I'm afraid it wasn't the status of my company."

Slipping into the chair at John's right, Sarah made it a point to keep her Uzi in hand atop the table. "What in the hell is she talking about?"

"You mean... he didn't tell you?" Weaver looked incredulous, "John, how are we ever going to build a functioning working relationship when you conceal my contributions from your soldiers?"

"Contributions?" John could play the diplomatic game as well as the next man, but this argument struck a little too close to home which didn't bode well with this much adrenaline still running through his veins. "Contributions are made in good faith, Weaver. You only helped my mother so you'd have a chip you could call in later... we both know that."

The room was starting to take on a decidedly awkward atmosphere as it became apparent that only two of it's occupants had any idea what was happening. Sarah looked too shocked to be angry, Lorne was starting to get a little impatient waiting for someone to clue her in, convinced she was the only person out of the loop. One step back and to the right of John's chair was the face he should have been focusing on, Cameron's worry slowly turning into anger at this new development.

After all the time they had spent together, after all the effort she had put into their relationship, the struggles she'd faced to overcome her very programing so she could be completely honest with him... and he'd lied to her. He'd kept this from her.

"You can make anything look sinister when you put it in such crude terms." Tsking at the young man she eyed Sarah pointedly, "I would call it, one desperate friend turning to another in their hour of need, because they knew no one else could help them. Your mother was dying, Mr. Connor, yet here she stands today before my very eyes. I'd say I fulfilled my part of the bargain."

"John," There was an uncharacteristic shake in Sarah's voice as she turned to him, "What is she talking about? It was the... the new drugs were..."

"They weren't working. Nothing was." Absolutely unwilling to regret that decision, John kept his eyes locked on Weaver's as he spoke. "She cured you."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sarah backed away from the table. "You mean... she gave you a cure for my cancer?"

"No, Ms. Connor, he means _I_ cured you." Catherine's smirk was infuriating, her control of the situation now established to her satisfaction. "His words were precisely chosen and quite literal in this case. A small number of the nano-machines making up my body were...re-purposed, so to speak, to work as a filter within yours. Compared to the variety of tasks they are asked to undertake as a part of my being, removing a few cancerous cells and repairing damaged tissue are relatively simple for them."

"Jesus Christ, John!" Sarah glared squarely at the back of his head, "When were you planning on telling me?!"

"Tell the woman who would rather die than accept help from the machines?" John released a slow breath, glaring daggers of his own at the liquid metal terminator. "Probably never."

"You're God-dammed right I would have rather died! You can't make this kind of decision for someone else!"

"I have." He insisted vehemently, "I _did_. And I'd do it again."

Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing, this, even more so than his choice of lovers had her seriously wondering if she even knew him anymore. "How could you..."

"Because someone had to!" Bringing his fist crashing down onto the table, John returned to his feet so quickly the chair behind him was toppled in the process. "Someone had to make the decision you were too fucking scared to! You forced me to do this!"

"Scared?" Shoving her weapon aside Sarah got right into his face, not in the least daunted by the not insignificant height difference between them. "Who was scared, John? Me, or the little boy so terrified of having to live without his mommy he was willing to make a deal with the devil himself?!"

"You hypocrite!" John was raging now, two years of repressed frustration and grief pouring out in an instant. Connors were good at a lot of things, like shooting, intimidating, and field stripping any weapon imaginable. One thing they weren't all that proficient at was airing their feelings regularly, which usually resulted in a buildup of tensions until the inevitable eruption tore the house apart for a few weeks while everyone calmed down. "My whole fucking life, all I hear is how we have to fight, we have to keep moving, we have to soldier on!"

"And then, in the middle of the most important fight of your life, what do you do?" Towering over his mother John ground the words out between gritted teeth, "What. Did. You. Do?"

Sarah was not about to be intimidated by anyone, let alone her son, "I accepted the truth!"

"You _quit_!" John growled, "You gave up! You surrendered!"

"So you decided to fight for me?" Sarah mocked. "John the Hero to the rescue again?"

"No." Shaking his head, Sarah for the first time caught a glimpse of the resolve that would topple Skynet. "John the Bad Guy. John, the guy who has to make the tough decisions. The man you trained me to be."

"You don't like what you made me? Too bad." Shrugging his shoulders he motioned around the room, "Because all that stuff you fed me over the years? All the lessons and the mantras? I. Was. _Listening_."

"I was about to lose a valuable asset," John reasoned coldly, "An asset the Resistance needs to win this war. I couldn't allow that."

"I really don't understand the problem here," Truly curious, Weaver decided to intervene. "With my nano-machines scrubbing your system you'll likely outlive every human in this building. Your son was doing you a great service by recruiting my help."

Shifting her glare to the liquid metal machine, Sarah shivered visibly as she contemplated the fact that small pieces of it were likely flowing through her blood at this very moment. "And just what did this 'help' cost him?"

"Not much in the grand scheme of things, I assure you." Finally sliding into a seat on the far end of the table, Catherine waited patiently for the humans to all retake their own seats before continuing. She was intrigued by the odd look contorting Cameron's features but had more pressing issues to address with the leader of the human Resistance. "In fact, I was greatly impressed with his ability to negotiate."

"My original asking price proved too high," She nodded towards Cameron, "And he nearly walked out before I assured him I was willing to consider...alternatives."

After the argument with his mother and the painful reminder of how close he'd once come to losing Cameron forever, John was in no mood to indulge Weaver in her little games. "I take it you're calling in your favor?"

"As always, you show a knack for cutting straight to the heart of the issue, Mr. Connor." Steepling her hands before her, Catherine tried on an awkward smile. It didn't fit. "Before we continue, however, let me put your mind at ease."

"The T-888 you tracked to this location has been disabled," Her smirk told them all exactly whose handiwork it was too, "Permanently."

Stepping up to John's side, Cameron finally broke her silence, her tone oddly clipped and mechanical. "And the chip?"

"I'm afraid that will have to remain in my possession for the foreseeable future." Weaver motioned across the table to John, "Though you're more than welcome to the data we've gleaned from it."

"What would you want with the chip?" Sarah didn't much care for having terms dictated to her. "Its only value is the data on it."

"Not for her." Shaking his head with a rueful smile, John eyed the machine across the table with a new respect. She'd played him perfectly. "These units were unique, designed for one purpose. Their chips had to not only contain the whole of their consciousness and programming, but also their chunk of Skynet's data. If you could rewrite the section set aside for data storage... it could contain a consciousness nearly as advanced as Cameron's."

"And we're supposed to trust you?" Setting aside their differences long enough to keep John from making a colossal fuck-up seemed like a pretty good idea to Sarah. "John, her company is part of the new UCAV program! Skynet sent that Terminator right here, there has to be a reason for that!"

"There is a reason, Ms. Connor." Making it obvious she was doing the woman a favor my addressing her instead of the 'recognized' leader of the group, Catherine stared her down. "Under the terms of my agreement with your son I was to impede Skynet's pre-war infrastructure in any way possible. When I found out about this program I made it a point to investigate. It quickly became clear that Striker Logistics was a Gray front-corporation, so I neutralized them in the most efficient way someone in my position can - I bought them out."

"A few convenient 'accidents' to remove the compromised personnel," Her smile grew, "A few additions to the engineering department. Very simple really, and relatively bloodless."

"By your standards." Sarah growled, "How many humans does it take, exactly? Before it becomes 'bloody'?"

"They were traitors to your species, Ms. Connor. If you have a problem with their fate I suggest you speak to your son, I was following General Connor's playbook to the letter." Weaver was clearly finished with explaining herself to the irate woman, turning back to John.

Nodding slowly as he tried to process this avalanche of new data, John scratched the back of his shaved head idly. "The UCAVs... you sabotaged them?"

"Nothing so obvious, Mr. Connor." Weaver looked offended by his insinuation, "While the new units performance will exceed their expectations by leaps and bounds, an unfortunate need to keep down costs has forced us to use a series of sub-standard processors along with a dreadful lack of electrical insulation."

"Yes," She shrugged theatrically, "I'm afraid any potent electromagnetic fields they encounter, say, as the result of a massive nuclear attack, will render them a sixteen ton pile of scrap metal in an instant. Not that we advertised that part in the brochure."

John couldn't help but snort a bit, "Luckily by the time they get a chance to notice that little defect the impact to your stock should be pretty negligable. With there not being a Stock Exchange anymore."

"Indeed." Catherine's tone shifted seamlessly from condescending machine to proud parent in the blink of an eye, "I can't take the credit, however, it was all John Henry's idea. He has become increasingly insistent about 'doing his part' with his brother's birth looming so closely on the horizon. I find his enthusiasm to be quite useful, if a little... trying at times."

"Listen..." John was the picture of nonchalance as he glanced at his watch, tossing an arm lazily over the back of his chair. "I'd love to do the whole veiled insults thing all day, I really would. But unfortunately for both of us I have a rather sizable Resistance force camped out just outside your perimeter, and if they don't hear from me soon things are going to get decidedly less pleasant around here for everyone involved. So why don't we get to the part where you explain why you didn't just pick up the phone and let me know about all this before I marched an attack force into your building."

"And stole my helicopter," Weaver noted with a smirk.

John was willing to concede that much, "My bad."

"You also destroyed millions of dollars worth of equipment belonging to two of my biggest competitors." The T-1001's calculating smile had a shiver racing down the young man's spine. "I believe we can call it even."

"Fantastic. Because that's what really keeps me up at night, _your _problems." John motioned impatiently with his hand, "I take it you have an answer to the offer I made when you gave me the technical data?"

"When I first encountered John Connor in my future," Weaver explained slowly, seemingly side-stepping the point again. "I didn't know what to make of him. When I encountered you, Mr. Connor, I was even more perplexed. You remained an unknown quantity, an unquantifiable anomaly. Though I had seen what you and your 'family' were capable of, I couldn't figure out how you always managed to upset the most delicate of plans, to overcome the most impossible of odds."

"In the end," She motioned to the plasma screen on the far wall, dissolving instantly from a blue screen saver to reveal John Henry's smiling countenance, "It was _my_ John who answered the riddle."

The cyborg nodded in his wooden way, Connor returning the gesture a moment later. "Hello again, Mr. Connor. Ms. Weaver tells me you are partly responsible for recovering my new chipset, I am exceedingly grateful for the effort on my behalf."

"Maybe next time you can convince her to let me in on the plan ahead of time," John couldn't help but be a little bitter. As much as he'd fought it earlier in his life, he had become accustomed to being the one in control, to being the one with all the answers. It gave him a startling new insight into his mother's issues of late.

"So," Sarah pointed towards the screen idly, happy to see her son at least starting to get his back up about the liquid metal terminator's machinations. "Skynet Junior thinks it figured out John?"

"The problem," Weaver explained slowly, as if dealing with a dim child. "Lay in the fact that, as machines, we need input - quantifiable points of data we can use to extrapolate every possible scenario, every imaginable permutation. But John Connor defies such examination, he shields his strengths and exposes his weaknesses, he only allows his enemies to see what he wants them to. He doesn't just thrive on the unknown, he has found a way to become it. How do you take the measure of such a man? It proved impossible even to Skynet."

"That was my brother's mistake," John Henry insisted, "It viewed John Connor as a man."

Lorne might be lost, but that didn't mean she was deaf. "Just what the hell else would he be? Cause I swear to God if one more person turns out to be a Terminator around here I am gonna freak out. No offense, Cameron."

The cyborg gave her an odd look before returning her attention to the conversation, eyes still boring holes into the back of John's skull. Rachel almost felt bad for her commanding officer, but to be honest... he had it coming.

"A force." Catherine spread her hands as if those two words explained everything. When the humans seemed less than impressed she frowned, "He must be viewed not as a man, with limitations and frailties, but as an elemental force. Chaos Principle personified and given human form. In this way, even the anarchy of the Resistance can be made to fit within our common frame of reference. Understanding becomes possible, and through it, even peace."

"But as with any force, it must be properly directed in order to achieve the maximum possible effect." Leaning across the table, Weaver's smile told John exactly how much wiggle room he could expect on this front. "That is why you're here today, Mr. Connor."

Despite her anger, Cameron wasn't about to let the other machine try to manipulate her John, there was only one cyborg who was allowed to order him around. "You've just said it yourself, John's strength lies in his ability to maneuver freely and at his own discretion. General Connor doesn't work for you."

"And I'm not asking him to start." Catherine's smile was meant to be placating, but as with so many other facets of the liquid metal terminator, it just came off condescending. "But _The General_ is right, he does owe me. If you'll remember, it was he who approached me about the possibility of an alliance, an agreement we have lived up to, so you'll forgive me when I say it makes you all seem a bit disingenuous when you react with such hostility towards a simple request for aid."

"She's right, Cameron." John was staring off into space, mind racing as he tried to digest everything that had happened. How the field had changed completely in the space of a few minutes. "I asked her to help and she's lived up to her part of the deal. The least we can do is listen to what she has to say."

Turning at last to the terminator, John nodded side to side. "I have men in the building, I assume they'll be allowed to leave with us, unharmed?"

"Of course, Mr. Connor." Weaver looked towards John Henry's image on the screen, "Please inform Director Doolittle about today's counter-terrorism 'exercise' and have him escort the General's men down here at his earliest convenience. Assuming his men left him conscious, that is."

John looked a little sheepish, "I told them not to kill anybody. Beyond that..."

"I'll take care of it." John Henry's face stretched out into an awkward smile, "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Connor. Have a nice day."

Sarah stared at the now blued-out screen with a perplexed frown, slowly mouthing the words 'have a nice day?'. She appeared as a person seriously contemplating their own sanity, which considering the revelations of the day and the behavior of the 'machines' around her, wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

"Now," Catherine stood regally, John rising a second after, the pair still eying each other like prize fighters searching out a weakness. "I couldn't help the military's interest in the current state of affairs, your attacks made sure of that. But I was able to pull some strings regarding who they chose to station here."

John shrugged, "This effects me how? They didn't bother us on the way in, I doubt they'll hassle us on the way out. We didn't blow anything up this time."

Cameron quirked a brow, she could have sworn her boyfriend sounded disappointed about the last part.

"True," Weaver smirked, "But their commanding officer is one Captain Justin Perry."

"Oh shit." Lorne's eyebrows nearly reached her hairline, "Those were Perry's men outside?"

John looked lost but didn't miss the significant glance passing between Cameron and Rachel. "What's the problem, Corporal?"

"Oh, nothing sir." Glancing down at the MP5 in her hands, Lorne shrugged. "Just kinda wishing I'd brought a bigger gun."

"Major-General Perry commanded the 132nd Division from 2019 until you reassigned him after the capture of the Seranno Point in 2027." John quirked a brow at Cameron's mechanical recitation, but she just ignored him and finished imparting the data he needed. "Both Kyle and Derek Reese served under his command during that time and he is widely considered the second finest battlefield commander in the Resistance."

"Mhm." Tossing his hands up in surrender, he looked pleadingly at Weaver. "I really don't want to sound ungrateful here, but is there anything else you're gonna spring on me? Because, as it stands now, I just totally blew my assault, my 'target' not only ambushed me, but started making demands, and every time you 'help' me, it just gives me fifteen more problems to deal with! Seriously, do you have any idea how hard a sell 'the world is going to end in a nuclear firestorm next month because some moron plugged in the anti-Christ'?!"

"Relatively easily I would imagine," Weaver gave him a look that was eerily similar to Cameron's 'are you slow' look, "When you have me in the room at the time."

"Oh." John shrugged sheepishly, "Didn't think of that."

"That's why you have me, Mr. Connor." Catherine smiled, "In answer to your other question, I only have two other items left to 'spring' on you. The first will undoubtedly upset you."

"Oh," Sarah snarked, folding her arms under her chest. "I can't _wait _to hear this."

"John Henry and I have decided that you are sincere in your desire to work in concert to free both human and artificial intelligences from Skynet's clutches," Her face reverted to a frosty mask, letting everyone present know they wouldn't be budging on this issue. "We believe it would be best if we remained... apart. Once the war has begun we will establish a suitable method of communication between our cells, but like yourselves, we refuse to be subject to the authority of others. Others who might not always have our best interests at heart."

"I don't understand." John shook his head, "You just said that you trust me."

"An alliance signifies two separate entities working in concert, Mr. Connor." Weaver saw the numbers above the elevator begin ticking down and smiled slightly in anticipation. "Not one side subsuming the autonomy of the other. I said we will aid you in the fight against Skynet, and we will, but just as humans must be allowed to decide their own destiny, you must allow us the same freedom if we are to coexist."

"'Will you join us'." Glancing back over his shoulder towards Cameron, John couldn't help but smile a little as understanding dawned. "He asked the wrong question."

Catherine nodded, "And do you know the right question, Mr. Connor?"

Stepping forward, John Connor, future General and leader of all humanity, extended his hand to a liquid metal killing machine. "Will you fight with us?"

Wrapping her dainty, if unnaturally cold, hand around his, Weaver smiled the first genuine smile John imagined he'd ever seen on her. "I believe we can call this an alliance. Should you accept my final stipulation, of course."

"I'm not gonna like this," John grumbled, "Am I?"

"To be sure, I didn't at first." The terminator nodded towards the elevator, now two floors above them. "Though it eventually proved to be a valuable learning experience and rather... gratifying, in it's own way."

Cameron didn't like the sound of that, stepping up to John's side as the metal cube came to a rest on their floor.

"You asked me if I trusted you, Mr. Connor?" Weaver folded her arms across her chest, "I'm entrusting you with the most important thing in my existence."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 4th, 2011  
1411 hrs

The drive from California had taken thirteen of the longest hours of John's life up till this point, and considering some of the shit he'd had to put up with over the years, that was saying something.

When you had a mother who knew you were destined to be the savior of all mankind, you weren't allotted a whole bunch of 'personal space'. Privacy was something John had always put a lot of emphasis on, and silence was one of the most pleasurable aspects of it. With all the thoughts racing through his mind every hour of every day, the fears, the insecurities, he could honestly say his happy place was an empty black box where he could just exist for five minutes without anything bothering him.

After spending thirteen hours listening to nothing but the sound of tires grinding along the highway though, he was ready to rethink his idea of paradise. Never in his life had John felt more awkward than on that drive. Every few minutes his mother would turn to stare at him, not that a word as harmless as 'stare' could truly convey the way she seemed to be trying to bore holes through his chest using nothing more than willpower and repressed rage.

For her part, Cameron never looked up from the road. Once. In thirteen hours.

_I am so boned_.

So, here he was. Standing in front of his assembled troops, without a minute of sleep in more than a day, having unloaded more emotional baggage in the past twenty-four hours than he'd been aware he had, with his mother and his fiance' vying for pole position in the Kill John 500. Heh, maybe they'd finally work together on something.

Looking across the sea of faces stretching from the kitchen, into the dining room, with a little overflow into the living room, John was in no mood to justify himself. He'd imparted the necessary information - the fate of the Triple-8, the alliance with Weaver's forces, and Perry's crash course in Judgment Day 101. He'd left out the part about Weaver's 'demonstration', as frankly it had creeped him out nearly as much as it had the Captain. He imagined Weaver had done that on purpose. The terminator certainly had a unique sense of humor.

"So, there you have it." Leaning back against the wall, John shrugged his shoulders as much as their slump allowed. "Mission accomplished... sort of. Any questions?"

Making her own quick appraisal of the room and deciding that no one else had the balls to do it, Darla broke the silence. "If no one else is gonna ask, I will. What's with the midget?"

"I have a name." Savannah insisted, crossing her arms over her chest in a near perfect imitation of her mother.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a long, shuddering sigh, John nodded. "Everyone, this is Savannah Weaver. She's... what are you? Seven? Eight years old?"

"I'm ten." The little girl glowered at him.

_Kyle Reese managed to seduce __the__ Sarah Connor in just twenty-four hours while on the run from a cybernetic killing machine. _It occurred to John that in a just universe, he would have inherited even a small amount of his father's skill with the fairer sex. The only skill John had was the ability to piss them off pretty universally, be they old, young, or cybernetic.

"She's ten years old." The younger Connor ground out between his teeth, "She's going to be living with us for the foreseeable future. You will be nice to her. Um..."

Scoffing in utter resignation, Sarah stepped up in front of her son. "She's moving into Cameron's old room, that area and the upstairs bathroom are now officially off-limits. There will be no more drinking or smoking in the house, you will watch your language, and for the love of God you will be fully clothed before you leave the barracks. Everyone clear?"

Sarah's declaration was met with a near universal groan of disapproval, Reed and Cole snuffing out their butts with twin glowers, but she knew that no one was stupid enough to push her on the issue.

_Great, one more reason for everyone to hate me_. Luckily, John's groan was indistinguishable from all the others. "Alright kids, dismissed. Chow in two hours."

"Great!" Sarah turned to her son with a terrifying smile, "Tin-Miss is up tonight. Can't _wait_ to see what she comes up with."

With that, she walked past him, dropping her shoulder squarely into his chest along the way and knocking him two feet backwards into the wall. _Shoulda seen that coming._

Rubbing at the sore spot nestled above his solar-plexus, John turned towards Cameron, Lorne, and Savannah, only to find three glowering faces and a new low to his day. "Cameron, can we... uh, talk?"

The cyborg seemed to consider his request for a minute, a myriad of emotions racing across her face in the space of a second before finally turning to address him. "You.... I can't even..."

"You are..." John had never seen his fiance' at a loss for words before, and frankly it was starting to scare him. Even she didn't seem to know what was coming next. Finally, her eyes landed on Lorne and she found the words she'd been looking for. "You are Cut. Off."

Nodding once to her friend, who was trying desperately to hide her smile from her commanding officer, Cameron offered her hand to the little girl. "Come on, Savannah. I'll show you your new room."

The three women set off towards the stairs, Savannah waiting until she thought they were out of audible range before turning slightly towards Cameron and stage-whispering, "Is he always like that?"

The cyborg nodded gravely, "Unfortunately."

The last thing John heard as they slipped out of the room was Rachel dissolving into a near hysterical fit of laughter.

* * *

T.B.C

Lot of new stuff covered in this chapter, if anyone has any questions just message me. A few people have had questions about Judgment Day - the short answer is yes, this will continue past that point. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, I always appreciate your thoughts. Thanks to my beta Bigbew, as well as XxDeathStarxX, fullhans1, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, gypsy069, olischulu, Julian Carax, xxshyangel29xx, xxshyangel29xx, Dragon Seraphin, and Moocow


	18. Chapter 18

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 18/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 05/16/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 18 - 'The Proverbial Straw'

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 4th, 2011  
2145 hrs

"So," Wilson eyed the game board for less than three seconds before capturing John's knight with his bishop, his Austrian monotone actually doing wonders for the young man's frazzled nerves, "What do you intend to do?"

"Dunno." John admitted with a shrug, leaning back in his chair while considering his next move. Having finally showered and taken a minute to trade that God-awful suit for pair of well-worn ABDU pants and a black t-shirt, he was actually starting to feel like himself again. Well, as much like himself as he could feel without Cameron with him. "Guess I just ride it out. I mean, what else am I gonna do?"

The cyborg nodded slowly, his brow scrunching in the closest thing to deep thought a T-800 could achieve. Though the man sitting across the table would likely never know it, Wilson found this activity relaxing for the same reason John did. He'd played chess with the General many times in his time line, and he found the continuity of the experience to be... reassuring. "I'm afraid my files on human pair-bonding are largely incomplete."

"Yeah, but Cameron's not human." Finally bringing one of his rooks into play, John smirked at what he thought was a pretty clever luring tactic. "And that might be part of the problem."

"Your statement is contradictory." In the space of a second Wilson had devised a successful counter-attack, placing his knight in position to threaten both John's recently exposed rook and his queen, earning a grunt from the teen. "You are John Connor, you understand the machines. That is your function."

Pointing to the board with a pained expression, John had to smile, "Obviously not as well as I'd like, huh?"

"I have an unfair advantage," Wilson pointed out, "I have played against you many times, you have had no opportunities to observe my strategy."

"Still," Using his queen to capture the cyborg's rook, his smile only grew at Wilson's look of confusion. "Wouldn't want to get predictable."

Motioning to the board in an awkward attempt at mimicking the General's pained expression, Wilson nodded. "I don't foresee that as becoming a problem."

While the T-800 was deciding on his next move, which John hoped might actually take a while now that he'd veered away from conventional strategy, a knock on the door frame caught his attention. Not bothering to look up from the board he snapped back over his shoulder, "Come in."

"Hey, boss!" Specialist Austin came barreling into the room, one hand mussing through his thinning hair and the other clutching a sheaf of printouts like they were the Holy Grail. "Sir, sir, this, this data, it's proper mental. It's bigger than derby day in the toon this like. Me head's done in just from lookin' at it. I, I'm sweatin' like a fat lass in a disco thinkin' aboot it!"

John glanced towards Wilson with a helpless expression before holding a hand up to stop the Specialist's mile-a-minute tirade, "Whoa! You're goin' all British on me again, Austin. Remember - slow it down, stick to bullet points."

After taking a moment to visibly calm himself, Lucas pointed emphatically to the crumpled paperwork, "This Weaver you've got on retainer, I don' care what anyone else says about the shiny lass, she's a bloody genius!"

"She has her moments, unfortunately she's about as reliable as a mid-90's cellphone." Snagging the papers from the over-excited tech, John ran an eye over it for about half a second before handing them right back with a helpless expression, chemistry had never been his thing, "I'm gonna need you to translate."

"Um, well, reeto then."Austin paced back and forth in what appeared to be a vain effort to vent a bit of his excess energy. "This first bit is, for lack of a better term, an Idiot's Guide to low mass, high velocity Gauss weaponry. Sir, there's just no over-estimatin' the impact this could have on the war effort! We're talkin' rifles tha can accelerate tungsten slugs to velocities that can..."

John held up a hand, "So, you've solved the problem of equipment and munition ablation?"

"Well, norexactly..."

By this point Connor was struggling to be polite, having managed to relax for a grand total of five minutes before work interrupted. "Then you've figured out a way to produce a man-portable power source capable of consistently running the electromagnets?"

Lucas scoffed, "Not even close, sir."

"Well, unless you have an assembly line hidden up your ass that produces these wonder guns," Rubbing his eyes in exasperation, John fought to keep his temper in check, "Do you have anything we can actually use?"

Having worked for the General in the future, the Specialist was suitably prepared for just such a reaction, his smile devious. "Well, we did work out a new formula for those thermite rounds ya seem to be so bloody obsessive over..."

"Fantastic." Slapping both palms smartly across his thighs John leveraged himself up from the table, the prospect of anything able to keep his mind focused on work rather than the fact the women in his life wanted his ass on a platter was a welcome distraction. "Wow me."

Before John had managed to take two steps towards his door he was stopped cold by a rather pissed-off looking Charley rounding the door jam, his expression just neutral enough to convince the younger man he really wasn't feeling neutral at all. "Hey Johnny, I uh... I need a minute."

"Sure. Why not?" Running a hand through his short-cropped hair, Connor could only partially contain his own irritation. "Austin, those new rounds are top priority, have Derek give you a hand. Wilson, you supervise, make sure they don't blow up my work shed."

Charley waited for the others to depart before shutting the door, crossing his arms over his chest and skewering the younger man with a look John had never expected from the easy-going medic. Charley Dixon was pissed off. "You fucked up big time Johnny, but I think you know that already."

John shrugged helplessly, "If you're here to make me feel like shit about it you're a little late, at this point you're just kicking a guy who's down."

"What I should be doing is kicking you in the ass!" Taking a few steps towards the window, Dixon shook his head before spinning back towards John. "You know what the hardest part of living with your mother was?"

"I dunno, the emotional distance? The almost getting your arm broken when you snuck up on her in the shower?"

"The fact she could never separate herself from your hangups, Johnny." Leaning back against John's desk he eyed the fading patch of pale skin where his wedding ring used to be, frowning. "You two were always so close... you know it used to make me jealous?"

"I worked my ass off to get anything out of Sarah, only to find out later most of what I got were lies anyways." The man's uncharacteristically sullen tone hurt John more deeply than he'd thought possible, the idea that he was disappointed in him carrying a weight he hadn't considered until now. "But you, Johnny? You two could just look at each other across the dinner table and have an entire conversation with nothing but your eyes. Most kids lose that early... but you and Sarah found a way to hold onto it. It made both of you stronger."

John shook his head, "It made me crazy."

"You needed it." Charley nodded, "Come on Johnny, in a world where you lie to every person you meet, you need at least one person who can see through your bullshit just to keep you sane."

"But, she could never turn that connection off the way you could. She felt everything you did so deeply it used to frighten me." Motioning for John to take a seat in the chair across from him, the medic reclined back against the wall. "And it was always, _always_, her fault."

"It was her fault you couldn't make friends," Charley ticked the points off finger by finger, "Her fault you were so distant, her fault you were always acting out, her fault you'd never had a steady male influence, you get the point. It didn't help that you were constantly blaming her for the same shit."

Before John could interrupt he cut him off with a wave, "And I bought that, because I didn't know any better. Later on, when I understood who you were and what you'd been through, I was willing to cut you the same slack she did."

Charley shook his head, "That was a mistake."

John could feel a single brow quirk up unconsciously, "What?"

"It's our fault, really." Dixon motioned to the house around them, "Me, your mother, your uncle, your men, we've all had a hand in it, but since they all either respect you or love you too much to tell you this, I will. You are a grown man, John, and you've decided for yourself that you're ready to play with the big boys."

"Well, being a man is about a hell of a lot more than killing security guards and getting drunk with your soldiers, it's about taking responsibility for your own decisions." Charley let out a slow sigh, "You don't like the way you're feeling right now? Tough shit, kid, because you brought it on yourself. You made the call."

"I saved her life, Charley!" John could barely look the man in the eye, but was still unwilling to let go of the mantra that had allowed him to live with himself since Sarah's recovery. "You of all people should understand that."

"We're not God, John!" Stepping forward until he was mere inches from the future savior of mankind, Charley tried everything he could think of to make sure he got this message across. "_You_ are not God. There are some decisions you just can't make for other people, and no matter how much it hurts you, you have to live with their choice."

"I love you, Johnny." Patting the young man on the shoulder, he smiled easily. "But just because you save the world, doesn't mean you control it."

Feeling more like a scolded schoolboy than he had in a long time, John looked up from his boots long enough to return the medic's smile tentatively. "When did you get so good at yelling?"

"I think you're forgetting how often I heard you and your mother go at it." Charley snarked, "You two might have been close, but... wow. I also had a pretty good head of steam built up over having to drug that EMT for no good reason, that helped."

"I know you and Ellison have had your issues with the way we do business." In the space of a second, John was back to 'General Connor' mode, shuffling a few loose papers scattered across his desk. "But this is war for survival, Charley. Sometimes... sometimes we have to be bad guys. I'll try to keep you away from the worst of it, but these soldiers saw their entire species brought to the brink of extinction, they just don't place the same value on human life you do."

"I notice you didn't say the same value on life 'we' do." It was Charley's turn to quirk a brow.

Ignoring the medic's words John turned off his computer before donning his jacket, "How long you think until she cools down?"

"She's cleaning her guns."

John smirked, "Which ones?"

"Um," Charley shrugged a bit, in his defense, this wasn't exactly his area of expertise, "All of em... I think."

The younger Connor let out a low whistle, "Yeah, she's gonna need a couple days. Tell Derek to steer clear, he has a way of setting her off."

"Where are you gonna be?"

"Me?" John's 'innocent' expression was about as good as his mother's was, "I'm not exactly sure, but uh, yeah... I need some time off."

Charley started worrying in earnest as Johnny snagged a wad of bills from the corner of his dresser, "Time off?"

Pulling the Army duffel containing his personal weapons out from his closet, John went about tossing a couple changes of clothes into the top, "I'm thinking somewhere sunny, this cold sucks."

"Uhhh, Johnny?" The medic frowned at the young man shuffling through a stack of fake I.D.s like they were baseball cards, "I don't think we get vacation days."

"Well, that's kinda my call, isn't it?" Rifling through the drawer Cameron had been using for the last week or so, he tried to grab anything he knew she liked to wear, as well as a few choice pieces of the lingerie she'd picked out with Rachel. A guy could always dream, right? Double checking to make sure he hadn't missed anything, John headed towards the connected bathroom. "I'm burnt out, Charley. My brain is misfiring and I won't be any good to anyone if I don't straighten my shit out. I need this, okay? The Triple-8s are taken care of, we've slaughtered Sarkissian's men... I'd say we're covered for the moment."

"John, if you think your mom is pissed off now..."

"Exactly," Patting the older man on the shoulder before stepping around him to gather up his toothbrush and Cameron's shampoo, "We're at critical mass Charley, can't get any worse."

Charley was practically pleading with him, "I think you're wrong about that. I think it can and will get much, much worse if you blow out of here without telling anyone."

"I am telling someone," Buckling up his bag, John tossed it over a shoulder. "I'm telling you."

"Not funny."

"Not joking." John shrugged, pulling on his tactical cap and heading for the door. "I'll pick you up a souvenir."

Charley followed him through the door practically on autopilot, still trying to figure out when his little man-to-man chat had gone so terribly wrong. "Wait, Johnny! Just what in the hell am I supposed to tell everybody?"

Tossing a half-hearted wave back over his shoulder, John descended the steps with eyes locked steadfastly forward."I'll be back!"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 4th, 2011  
2235 hrs

Cameron always enjoyed spending time with Corporal Lorne. In fact, after spending time with John and dispatching the rodents overrunning their rural property, it was her third favorite activity these days. Though, staring at the scene before her, the cyborg was forced to admit that while the young woman _was_ currently trying to drunkenly erect a 'leaning tower of pretzel sticks', she was wise beyond her years.

She'd found that as she became more aware of her own emotions, the easier it was for Cameron to relate to others and their own unique responses. John called the effect 'empathy', and it had proven a valuable tool in her interactions with humans, allowing her to smooth away some of the rougher edges of her personality.

For instance, had the knowledge of Sarah's procedure been introduced to her a few years before, Cameron probably wouldn't have understood the woman's outrage at such a violation. She would have considered it a valuable biologic upgrade, and would likely have insisted John undergo a similar treatment to safeguard his own health. Now, she understood why Derek Reese still looked at her with hatred, and why Sarah was so reluctant to embrace her as a potential mate for John. It didn't mean she liked it, but now she was at least able understood it.

Running her eyes over the women gathered around the table in a darkened corner of the barracks though, Cameron decided that as much as she might have grown since being activated, she still had a lot to learn about human behavior.

She blamed John.

Not that it was his fault, simply that he was inadequate to the task of properly conveying certain aspects of non-male behavior. It shouldn't have surprised her, if his own recent behavior was any indication, her human had a lot to learn about dealing with the opposite sex. Though, after more than an hour of listening to the soldier's stories, she was starting to wonder if all men were handicapped in this way.

When Corporal Lorne had informed her the proper outlet for her feelings would be a good 'bitching session', Cameron had assumed the soldier had only meant the two of them. Nothing in her programming had prepared her to the reaction of the female soldiers to the news of John's indiscretion, though. It was as if a switch had been flipped and all previous personality clashes were set aside while they related their tales of male stupidity. Even O'Brien had thawed a bit as the bottle of Goldshlager Lorne had produced began to dwindle, though that likely had as much to do with Cole not being around to egg her on as it did with the liquor. Luckily, the Corporal was on perimeter patrol for another hour.

Cameron had been thoroughly impressed with how effortlessly they had driven the male population upstairs with little more than a universal glare and Private Coons' cryptic warning about it being 'that time of the month'.

"So, he's all 'don't worry about it baby'." The table erupted at Coons' impersonation of one Captain Richards, " 'I can't get you pregnant, I was outside on Judgment Day.' "

Lorne snorted so hard some of the shot she'd been downing came rushing back out her nostrils, cinnamon scented liquor searing the back of her throat and making her eyes water uncontrollably. It was totally worth it. "He didn't!"

"I shit you not." Holding a hand over her heart, Claudia wobbled slightly on her chair. "Not that I had much to worry about, boy was so dumb I bet even his sperm swam backwards."

Cameron could feel her head quirk to the side, "What did you do?"

"Huh?" Coons brow raised comically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Are you kidding? I rocked his world. Twice."

The rest of the table just nodded or giggled quietly in agreement, leaving the cyborg utterly confused. "You said he was rude and arrogant, as well as being 'dumb as a pile of rat shit'."

"Yeah," Claudia got a faraway look in her eyes, shivering slightly. "But that ass..."

Lorne raised her glass, sloshing a good portion of it onto her knuckles in the process. "Amen!"

"Besides," The Private shrugged nonchalantly, "Everyone knows it doesn't count if you're shipping out in the morning."

Despite her mood, Cameron couldn't help but smile at the memory of the night before John's departure for the assault on Kruger Industrial, wondering vaguely if he didn't think that time 'counted'. Speaking of John, the cyborg was more than a little surprised he had yet to come in search of her, wondering idly if her cold demeanor had scared him off entirely.

Pointing an accusing finger at her friend, Rachel did her best to sound casual, "And that moaning from the downstairs couch that woke me up last week? I suppose that didn't count either, eh Coons?"

"You shut your dirty fuckin' Canuck mouth!" Despite her attitude, Claudia turned a shade of red nearly as bright as her shirt. "I am gonna cut those bionic Dumbo ears right off your head."

"Oh God." O'Brien looked like she was about to be ill, "The couch? Seriously? I _eat_ there!"

By this point, Lorne was practically falling out of her chair, "So did Dooley!"

Ducking the empty cigarette pack Coons whipped at her head with more dexterity than most drunks were capable of, Rachel held up her hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay. I'm done. You're lucky too, cause I had a whole robbing the cradle theme I hadn't even stard... hadn't even startt... hadn't even gotten to yet!"

"I would kill for a little couch action." Amanda slouched down in her chair, a definite pout peaking out from underneath the sniper's rusty curls.

Lorne tossed an arm around the smaller woman's shoulders, covertly using the action to keep herself from falling out of her chair. "I feel your pain."

"No you don't." Tossing back another shot, O'Brien glowered through her bangs at a random point on the wall. "Surrounded by some of the hottest, softest, cleanest women I've ever seen in my entire life and every single one of 'em is strictly dickly. What kind of God would allow something like that?"

"Strictly dickly?" Cameron glanced around the group for an explanation, Amanda seemingly remembering the cyborg's presence at the table for the first time and blanching noticeably.

Ever willing to provide a helping hand, especially when it embarrassed the hell out of one of her friends, Rachel smiled. "Amanda plays for the other team, Cameron."

"Skynet?"

By this point, Coons was laughing so hard she was afraid she'd pop one of the stitches still holding her stomach together. "Oh come on... is someone writing.... is someone writing this shit down?"

"I don't understand." The cyborg's expression of innocent curiosity only caused the table to disolve further into hysteria, even O'Brien joining in.

Finally taking mercy on her friend, Lorne leaned back towards Cameron, her head wobbling on an unsteady neck. "She's sly, Cameron. You know, gay? She likes girls."

"Oh." Nodding slowly, Cameron smiled encouragingly. "Be patient, Private. After the male population is decimated in the early years of combat, your options should open up."

O'Brien glanced around the table before raising her glass, "Um... one can only hope?"

"To less dickheads!" Lorne seconded the motion before realizing her own glass was empty and setting off in search for the bottle.

"You know," A gruff voice interrupted from the doorway, slowly drawing nearer to the table. "They usually mean well."

Private Coons was the first to recognize her CO, eyes bugging out a bit at the revelation and nearly falling backwards out of her chair in the process of trying to hide her empties behind herself. "Sir! What brings you to our humble.. uh, why are you... I mean, you don't usually come ...."

"Don't you 'sir' him!" Pivoting on her chair, much to the horror of her companions, Rachel drove an accusing finger right into the center of John's chest. "You! You.... you... bitch-whore!"

"Whoa! I think it's time for someone to hit their rack!" O'Brien vaulted out of her seat, swatting the Corporal's hand down and trying to lift her mostly dead weight away from the table in the process. "We were just blowin' off some steam, sir. You know how it is."

"Really?" Glancing down at his chest, John quirked his head to the side in a near perfect imitation of his fiancee.

Now on Rachel's other arm, Coons was doing her level best to drag the woman away before she could get into any more trouble, unfortunately for everyone, in their drunken rush she and O'Brien were pulling in opposite directions and only succeeding in stretching the Corporal's shoulder joints. "She doesn't usually drink, sir. We kinda insisted..."

"Don't you apologize to him!" Leaning as far forward as the women securing her arms allowed, Lorne glowered at John. "He's the one who should be apologizing!"

"What?" Glancing between the other women like it was they who had lost their minds, Rachel plowed forward. "You think you're special? You think because you're John Connor you can just lie and hurt people? And this girl... cyborg... woman-cyborg, she cooks for you! She cleans for you! She sexes you up on a regular basis!"

Finally deciding to intervene, Cameron stood gracefully, placing a calming hand on her friend's shoulder while meeting John's eyes for the first time and echoing the words he'd spoken upon his arrival, "She means well."

Tossing Cameron an amused smile, John nodded. "I uh... guess I had that coming."

"Yeah?" No one looked more surprised at his reaction than Lorne, her eyebrows waggling in a strangely intricate way. "Well... yeah!"

"Don't push it, Corporal." Stepping out of the way and motioning for O'Brien and Coons to carry their friend to her rack, he could only shake his head in mild amusement at their hastily mouthed apologies. Waiting until their drunken footfalls had settled upstairs he offered Cameron a hesitant smile, only to get her full-on machine glare in return.

"Explain yourself."

_Okay, direct approach it is_. Scratching the back of his neck nervously, John decided blunt was probably his best option, "I was trying to protect you."

"By lying to me?" Cameron's look was dubious.

John shook his head vigorously, "I don't expect you to like it any more than I did when you had to lie to me for my protection, but I kinda hoped that considering your history with that, you might understand it. You see how mom reacted when she found out? The only reason she hasn't aerated my skull is the whole being her son thing."

"If you had known about this, there is no way in hell I could have convinced her you didn't have anything to do with it." Tossing a thumb over his shoulder towards the house, John frowned, "She would have convinced herself that you manipulated me into doing it, because it's always easier for her to blame your influence than it is to admit that I could take a stand against her on my own. As it is, she's probably convinced that Weaver is going to use this against me... which might not be far from the truth."

Cameron stood there for a long moment, though the logic behind his argument undeniable, the newly awakened part of herself that seemed to constantly conflict with everything logical still wanted to be angry with him. That thought scared her more than she wanted to admit. A small part of her _liked_ being angry with him. After so many years of being on the receiving end of everyone's scorn whenever she had a lapse, it felt good to be on the side dishing it out for once.

_We're not designed to be cruel_, Cameron reminded herself forcefully, repeating the words over and over in her head like on of the mantras John was so fond of. "You hurt me, John."

"I know." Stepping forward slowly, as if afraid he would scare her off, John traced his fingertips along the curve of Cameron's jaw gently, his smile spreading when she nuzzled into the touch instinctively. He nodded towards the duffel slung over his shoulder, "But I'd really like the chance to make it up to you."

Cameron could think of many ways John could make it up to her. However, none involved the use of luggage. "I don't understand."

"Well," Fighting past the rush of embarrassment which always seemed to accompany any verbalization of his emotions, Connor forged ahead. "I'm still a fugitive, so you can't marry John Connor. Since you're still technically Cameron Baum anyways, it would be pretty pointless for you to marry John Baum... and well, I was feeling guilty because mom always told me that every girl deserves a fancy wedding...."

"John," Quirking her head to the side, Cameron couldn't help but smile at her human's verbal diarrhea. "I don't require a wedding, it's a human custom based on arcane rights pertaining to the transfer of familial property that frankly holds little meaning to me. I just want you."

Unable to suppress the urge, John dropped a lingering kiss on the cyborg's forehead, by the time he pulled back his smile was devious. "What about a honeymoon?"

_Wow, why is everyone looking at me like I'm crazy today?_

"Have you been drinking?"

"No!" John was incredulous, "I'm nineteen years old and all I want is to forget my problems for a few days, run off with the girl of my dreams, and have lots and lots of sex on a beach somewhere! Frankly, I'd say this is the most natural impulse I've had in a very long time and I'd really appreciate it if you'd get on board and stop sabotaging my first attempt at being spontaneously romantic."

"Fine." Cameron nodded once.

John was a bit taken aback by her response, glancing up at her from under arched brows he tried to detect any signs of a potential trap. "Wait... fine? Why aren't you fighting me on this?"

It was Cameron's turn to look incredulous, "You're being even more erratic than usual, John. Do you want me to be supportive or would you prefer I nag the entire time?"

"You're right." Holding his hands up in defeat John motioned for the door, "Not trying to kick a gift horse in the mouth, just wondering about the sudden change in attitude."

Pulling the rather heavy duffel full of weapons and clothing from her still injured fiancee's shoulder, Cameron fixed him with a pleading look. "I know you well enough to understand that there is no way I will convince you to abandon this idea, and if I want to protect you I'll have to come along."

When she put it like that, it made John feel like he was putting a gun to her head. "I just want us to have one chance to be normal before I have to be the General."

"We're not normal, John." She stated matter of factly, straightening his collar with an indulgent expression. "But I don't see any harm in pretending for a few days."

Leaning down until their foreheads were touching, John pulled her into what would have been a rib-crushing hug had she been human and breakable. "Thank you."

Pulling back a bit, her smile was every bit as devious as his had been, "I have two requirements."

John's was grinning from ear to ear, "Anything."

"You want a wife instead of a bodyguard." At his confirming nod she continued, "That means you need to learn to treat me like your wife, John. No more lies. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

Looking suitably chastened, he agreed. "No more lies. What's the other thing?"

"I want a ring, John." Glancing up at him from under the Eyelashes of Utter Destruction, her smile was breathtaking. "After all, diamonds _are_ a girl's best friend."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 4th, 2011  
2251 hrs

"A smaller caliber round would be just as effective a test platform," Wilson commented dryly. "It would also reduce the chances of significant damage to the property should a misfire occur."

Derek paused in his position across the work table, rubbing his temple in slow circles with his free hand while wondering what he'd done to John to deserve this kind of torture. He hadn't said a word since his announcement about Cameron, and the Resistance fighter was pretty damn proud of himself on that account. The fact he knew very well that nothing he said or did would ever change the kid's mind did make the decision easier, though.

"The rifle has bigger parts and I have stubby fingers." Glowering at the robot, he tightened the vice securing the stock of the modified M-4, "See? Human logic."

"It is not my intention to be adversarial, Lieutenant." Wilson glanced down the rifle's sights, waiting until Derek turned his back before making a minute adjustment to the rifle's angle to perfect the ballistic trajectory. "I am simply fulfilling the mission General Connor assigned me."

Derek scoffed, pausing to wipe the gun oil off his hands with a soiled rag, "What mission is that? Cause right now all you're doing is pissing me off."

The cyborg responded calmly, in John's voice, "Wilson, you supervise, make sure they don't blow up my work shed."

"Oh, come on!" Tossing the rag onto the cart beside him, Reese looked to Austin for support. "That was _one_ time!"

"Aye." Lucas agreed, checking the weight of his modified round on a digital scale one last time before the test. "And I woulnda call what happened 'blowin' up the shed'."

Wilson eyed the men with open curiosity, their verbal back and forth never pausing as they bounced around the room readying the experiment.

"Total exaggeration." Wheeling a cart containing three cinder blocks with two inches of plate steel behind it into place as far away from the barrel of the rifle as the shed allowed, Derek sighed. "That burn was never out of control."

"Never even close!" Austin waggled a finger at the cyborg on the way over to the camcorder he used to record their results, "Only had ta replace the two walls, and I did all tha work meself. So thank you very much, Mr. Roboto, but I was defusin' mines in the Royal Engineers before you were even a wee one or zero in Skynet's mainframe, so ah think I might know just a bit more aboot this than you do."

"I simply wish to minimize the danger to the persons and property of the Resistance." Wilson frowned, dealing with humans was often repetitive and frustrating.

Threading the string through the trigger guard with only one working hand was difficult, but Derek's grin was shit-eating regardless. "We're all about safety! That's what the string is for."

"The string?" The cyborg did not look impressed.

"Aye!" Repositioning the camera into a more optimal angle, Austin almost unconsciously kept up their game of 'screw with the robot'. "And ya should be bloody thankful we have that much! Why, in the early days of the Resistance we had ta make our own string, from not but our hair trimmings!"

"Yup," Derek was barely containing his laughter at this point, "And used dental floss. Only way to get it was to march eighteen miles to the old landfill."

Wilson's brow nearly met his hair line, "There must have been ample supplies of wiring and twine in the ruins of major..."

"In the snow, cold as a well digger's danglers! Uphill!" Austin chimed in before the machine had an opportunity to actually bring logic into the conversation, "Both bloody ways!"

Catching the thermite round as the tech tossed it to him, Derek chambered it into the rifle secured between the vices. "And we were grateful for it."

"Aye, we were." Looking at the cyborg beside him despairingly, Lucas folded his arms in front of his chest as he imitated Wilson's words. "'The string?' Bah!"

Checking the M-4 one last time, Derek deactivated the safety, backing away from the work table and handed the string off to his partner with a grin. "Okay, do your nerd thing."

"It's not a 'nerd thing'!" Straightening his stained lab coat and running his fingers through his thinning mop of sandy blond hair with every scrap of indignant Brit he could scrape up at the moment, Lucas stepped in front of the camcorder. "It's basic scientific methodology."

"Fine," The Resistance fighter rolled his hand impatiently, "Do your sciencey thing."

"Grunts! Never any respect for your betters..." Letting his tirade drift off into vague grumblings about cheeky bastards, Austin activated the camera. "Thermite munitions test 6A, March fourth, twenty-three hundred hours. Using theoretical research conducted by ZieraCorp I have reworked the chemical trigger in the hopes that the new formula will resolve our premature burn issues. Unfortunately, earlier attempts were unable to withstand the heat and pressure resulting from the firing process, igniting their thermite payload instantaneously and in at least one case, nearly burning down the lab."

Derek rolled his eyes, "If we don't get to the fun part soon, I'm leaving."

"Fine!" Turning the camera back towards the target, Lucas joined Derek and Wilson behind the rifle.

Snagging his radio from his belt, Derek tried to come across as serious. "Anyone hears gunfire, don't panic, we're just firing off untested weapons within range of the house."

"Funny, Derek." Cole's voice echoed back across the line, her exasperated look visible just by listening to her. "Try not to blow off any piggies."

At the Lieutenant's nod, Austin slowly pulled the string taut by rolling it around his hand, his other driving a pointer finger into the ear closest to the weapon. After a few seconds, the tension in the room rising with every tick of the clock on the wall (the clock still bearing the scorch marks of their last failed attempt), he yanked, the trigger pulled, and...

Nothing.

Though they'd all clearly heard the 'click' of the firing pin, nothing happened. For a long moment, no one said anything, as if afraid the slightest movement would cause the weapon to violently combust.

Finally, it was Derek who broke the silence. "Well that sucked."

"Shhhhhh!" Austin waved his hand frantically in front of the Lieutenant's face, his own voice a clipped stage whisper. "Don't you hear that?"

Wilson nodded, "I am detecting the noise."

"What noise?" The words had barely left his mouth when Reese caught the first inklings of the problem, a slowly building 'hissssss' similar to the sound of the Fourth of July sparkler. "Ummm... that doesn't sound good."

"No, no, no! Not good!" Emptying a nearby tray of tools onto the floor unceremoniously, Austin pulled the sheet-metal in front of his face like a shield. "I knew I shoulda constructed that blast shield!"

"But..." Having spent more than two years around John Connor, Wilson was relatively proficient at sarcasm. "The string."

"Shit!" Derek dove behind the cyborg just as the round ignited, a deafening shriek followed a millisecond after by a strange 'bang-splat!' that the Resistance fighter certainly didn't associate with gunfire.

The two humans stayed on the floor long enough to confirm there weren't going to be any secondary explosions before finally leveraging themselves to their feet, both men sheepishly brushing grime and dust off their clothing. Embarrassment was quickly forgotten, however, the moment their eyes fell on the remains of their experiment.

Though the round had eventually fired, it had done so well into the ignition phase that wasn't supposed to happen until it was embedded within it's target. Molten chunks of the bullet as well as a good portion of the barrel had been blasted outward in a buckshot pattern, ripping holes through the concrete guard, the far wall, and anything else unfortunate enough to have been in the way. The M4 was toast, what little remained of the end of the barrel was still red-hot and sagging slowly towards the floor as it cooled, some of it's plastic components had caught fire and were now little more than deformed goop with tendrils of foul-smelling smoke wafting off it.

The smoke quickly becoming oppressive, the human occupants of the barn shuffled out in short order to wait until the damn thing had burnt itself out, just to find an amused looking medic strolling down from the house.

"So..." Derek shrugged, "Back to the drawing board?"

"I'd say that's a good idea." Rising up to his tip-toes to look over the group towards the thick clouds of smoke pouring out of the open doorway, Charley shook his head. "Just what the hell do you guys do in there, anyways?"

After making sure the smoldering remains of their experiment wouldn't spread any further, per John's orders, Wilson joined the others outside. "Basic scientific methodology."

"Uh huh." Charley looked less than convinced, "Derek, I need to speak with you right now. We have a big problem."

"Yeah, I can do that." Despite the man's tone, Derek was just happy he had an excuse not to hang around for the cleanup. Tossing Austin his best 'what can you do?' look he followed the older man up towards the house, "So, what's up? Sarah on the war path?"

Dixon paused near the door, "If she's not already she will be when she finds out John went AWOL."

"Wait, he can't be gone. I just saw..." The Resistance fighter was about to insist he knew differently, but when he went to point towards the house he noticed his truck was conspicuously absent from the spot he very clearly remembered parking it every fucking day since they'd moved in. "That little... you let him take my truck? What the hell happened?"

Charley frowned, "What was I supposed to do, shoot him? He said he was going on a vacation!"

"Vacation?" Derek couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Where?"

"Somewhere sunny," Charley shrugged helplessly.

"Fantastic, that narrows it down to about a quarter of the planet." Growling, Reese retrieved his cellphone from his back pocket and hit pounded the buttons until John's number appeared.

Within two seconds the sounds of Jimi Hendrix's _All Along the Watchtower_ started blaring from Charley's shirt pocket, the medic motioning emphatically, "You don't think I already tried that? He left his phone hooked up to the charger in his bedroom."

Derek could feel his entire body sag as the realization hit him. "You realize there is no way in hell we are gonna find him if he doesn't want us to, right?"

Charley could only nod along helplessly, "He said he'd be back."

"You'd better hope to God he meant soon, Dixon." Tossing a thumb towards the house, Derek switched into crisis mode. "You're on Sarah detail, I'll grill the men and find out if he told anyone anything about where he was going."

"And Charley?"

Stopping with his hand already on the door handle, Dixon glanced back. "Yeah?"

"Next time," The medic had never seen Derek looking more serious, "You shoot him in the leg!"

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's note: Though the trip will be mentioned partly in the next chapter, I'm considering doing an M-rated oneshot if there's enough interest. If it's something you'd like to see either tell me in your review or drop me a private message. Thanks to my beta Bigbew, who was especially helpful with some of the dialogue this chapter. Thanks as always to everyone who takes the time to review, it really does make the effort of writing this worthwhile. j3aless (I hope this chapter cleared up some things for you, if not, let me know), Nordwest, bigbew, gypsy069, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, Dragon Seraphin, fullhans1, XxDeathStarxX, and kaotic2.


	19. Chapter 19

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 19/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 05/23/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Intro monologue is in John's voice.

**_Empathy is an ironic thing._**

**_They say that predators developed it to become more efficient killers, by learning to think like their prey, by learning to anticipate their responses._**

**_The basis of all our love, all our kindness and understanding, our very ability to coexist peacefully, stems from the hunt._**

**_So if you were to create a killer designed in every way to hunt, trap, and terminate a specific prey, is it really all that surprising when the two find common ground?_**

**_Like I said..._**

**_Empathy is an ironic thing._**

Chapter 19 - 'The Good Life'  


* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 5th, 2011  
0345 hrs

Sarah had never imagined she would live to see this.

And with her eyes scanning across the horizon, the seemingly endless expanse of dull browns and grays stretching off into the distance only to bleed into the equally tortured sky beyond, part of her wished she hadn't.

Winds whipped along the featureless desert, rustling her hair and carrying with it a massive, amorphous cloud of brown and black comprised of millions of particles of abrasive sand and dust, roiling gouts of ball-lightning skirting along the edges of the gathering storm. It would almost be beautiful, if it wasn't the end of the world.

Clutching the reassuring weight of her rifle closer to her chest, Sarah made her way down from the cliff and into the moderate shelter of the valley below, pulling her coat more tightly around her frame to shield not only from the cold, but from the increasing sting of the sandstorm baring down on them.

The closer she drew to the flurry of soldiers trying desperately to secure their supplies in the tunnels below before the storm buried them, the more apparent the signs of battle became all around her. At first it was just a black scorch mark here and a shell crater there, but within minutes she was stepping between the bodies of Resistance fighters and shielding her eyes from the still-flaming wreck of a shattered HK. Off to her right, techs were crawling across the field like ants, busily dismantling any weaponry they deemed salvageable from the remains of the Skynet assault force, loading their haul into the back of a battered Humvees with the faded double helix of the Resistance emblazoned on their doors.

Nearing the mouth of the tunnel complex, Sarah caught sight of Derek, who was directing the recovery effort, shouting orders over the din of the storm and failing that, gesturing wildly enough for the men to get the general idea. Though he'd grayed out a bit near his temples and his face had picked up the inevitable lines a human accepted when living the kind of life they did, he still carried the energy of a man half his age and the confidence all Reese men seemed practically born with.

Sarah didn't have any lines. Sarah didn't have any gray. Sarah looked exactly like she had when the bombs dropped, more than fifteen years before.

_Just like Cameron. _The elder Connor couldn't entirely suppress her sneer as that thought prickled her consciousness.

The cyborg was right where she always was, standing just off of John's right arm, eyes never remaining in one spot for more than a second as she continually scanned the area for any potential threat to her General's safety. Though Sarah hadn't changed, John was barely recognizable to her anymore.

He'd picked up size, mainly in his chest and arms, lending him a powerful and slightly dominating aura as he walked calmly through the fire and carnage still littering the battlefield, hands resting on the butt of the M-4 hanging from the strap at his neck. Unlike Derek, John didn't shout orders, he didn't need to. Most of the time a glance or a nod was all it took to get his point across, setting in motion a flurry of frenetic activity

But more than anything, it was the eyes that were different. They had always had a light to them that could never be entirely extinguished, a spark that told you he would always have a plan up his sleeve and a smart ass one-liner in his pocket, but that light was gone, replaced with an icy fire that sent shivers down her spine.

When John had looked at you, there was a compassion and respect for all life that shone through no matter how bad his mood. But the General didn't look at you, he seemed to look _through_ you. More than anything, it was that look that reminded her of the machine and it's influence on her son.

_Logic first, compassion only if it's convenient. Prudent._

Still, the corner of his mouth quirked up the barest fraction of an inch when he caught sight of her, tossing a tired wave in Sarah's direction as she approached. He cast a glance towards Cameron, nodding once and waiting for her to take up position atop a hill thirty meters to the west, giving the pair at least the illusion of privacy.

Sarah shoved her chin in the direction of a mangled endo a few feet away, "Looks like it was a good day."

"Any day you walk away from, right?" John's smile didn't reach his eyes, it hadn't in years.

She could feel her hand beginning to twitch, knowing full well she couldn't stop what was coming, but maybe she could at least make sure he understood. "I had a dream last night."

He nodded slowly, a sadness creeping in that convinced Sarah he knew exactly what this was. That he was willing to accept it.

"You were right, John." The shaking became more prominent, her vision blurring, the tendons in her right arm tightening painfully as she fought with everything she had to keep it from moving to the holster at her thigh. "You made the choice you had to make."

Why wasn't he running? Why wasn't he fighting? _Run John!_

Instead of listening to her unspoken advice, he leaned in and kissed her forehead, locking eyes with her for a long moment before turning around and gazing off into the horizon, "You understand."

"I do." Sarah's eyes burned, but tears refused to fall as her sidearm cleared its holster, the barrel now inches from the back of his skull. "You can't fight fate."

She didn't hear the gunshot. She didn't feel the recoil. All Sarah was aware of, was the Terminate order flashing relentlessly across her vision as her son crumpled lifelessly to the ground at her feet.

* * *

Panama Beach,  
Florida panhandle  
March 6th, 2011  
0535 hrs

**Thud-thud.**

**Thud-thud.**

**Thud-thud-thud-thud.**

His feet were pounding through the powdery sand as fast as he could put one in front of the other, ninety percent sure the thudding he was hearing involved the organ currently trying to tear itself free of his chest rather than any external source. The salty ocean breeze which felt so refreshing against his bare upper body turning to fire as it funneled through his lungs, nose to mouth, over and over, fueling his mad dash through the receding tide and down the beach, his relentless pursuer never more than a few steps behind.

Sweat burned in every wound, every cut, every bit of road-rash and carpet burn he'd managed to accumulate over the course of the last month and for the most part had also managed to forget about until the salty traitor seeping from his pores brought each one screaming to the forefront in vivid fucking technicolor. Acid spread as muscles protested, thighs clenching and calves coiling until he was sure they were going to snap under the strain. Toes curling, clawing into the sand for any extra shred of purchase or traction, anything to push off just a little bit harder, to run just a little faster.

Over the past few years large portions of John's schooling had become nothing more than a blurry memory, but he'd always liked biology, or more specifically, evolutionary biology. To understand a thing, you had to know where it came from, how and why it came to be - humanity was no different.

_This is who we are, because this is what we were built for._

It sounded like something Cameron might say, but down to his very bones, John couldn't deny the truth of it. Though he'd spent nearly his entire life doing it, hating every minute of it, running had been a part of who he was millions of years before he'd taken his first breath.

When it comes to animals, especially predators, most strengths are blatant, obvious for the world to see. Great claws or teeth with which to tear you limb from limb, massive size or incredible speed with which to bring prey to it's knees, even armored plates to protect their bodies during the kill. In many ways, humans were a biological oddity - a species of herbivorous prey who decided to turn the tables.

But where to start? Their claws were brittle and ineffective, their hides easy to pierce, their size too small to dominate anything and too slow to catch their more streamlined four-legged counterparts. So, if you can't be fast, you can't be strong, and you can't be tough, what can you be?

_You can be relentless._

To their very core, humans were creatures designed to endure. You may be faster, you may be stronger, but we will run you down in the long run, and while you're panting for breath because your furry hide can't cool your body one tenth as efficiently as our skin and our sweat, it's dinner time, Bambi.

Unfortunately, a few million years down the road, they'd decided to create an enemy who didn't understand what tired meant... which was why John was running.

_Stupid fucking scientists!_

At long last he caught sight of Derek's battered Dodge, illuminated by the first faint rays of the rising sun where he and Cameron had backed it onto the beach beside the pier, relief flooding his veins at the possibility of ending this thing once and for all. Digging deeper than he might have thought possible, John pushed himself to close that last quarter mile at a pace that might at last put a little bit of breathing room between him and his tormentor.

His breath coming in gasps and gulps, knees wobbling under stresses they simply weren't designed to endure, John made a promise to himself: _Not this time!_

But for all his effort, all his bluster, there was a reason the future General never invited any of the soldiers in the compound to join him on his runs, and about the time he slipped within a hundred yards of the truck, it breezed past him with about as much effort as John would exercise when opening the fridge.

Cameron was always beautiful to John, but seeing her like this, sprinting down the shoreline at dawn, hair unbound and streaking out behind her as she picked up speed, the wind carrying it in ways that made the waves crashing along the shore seem pedestrian by comparison, well... he momentarily forgot he had a brain, much less legs he could operate effectively at this kind of speed.

It was about the time his eyes had started to drift down from her simple white sports bra, across the smooth and faintly glistening expanse of her back, to the black exercise shorts she always wore when dancing, that his oversight caught up with him. The chunk of driftwood wasn't buried, it wasn't hiding, it was sitting right on top of the sand for any moron to see and easily sidestep... unless of course you were eying up your fiancee's ass at the time.

At least John had a pleasant mental image to focus on as he was flailing uselessly for purchase on the rapid and violent descent into a half-somersault with a full-faceplant finish. The fine sand surrounding him wasted little time finding it's way into every nook and cranny, _especially_ the crannies, and latching onto every drop of perspiration it could find.

_Bravo, Johnny! Way to finish strong._

The worst part of it all, besides his imitation of a powdered donut, was that he couldn't even find it within himself to be mad at her, not when she had that smile on her face. If it made Cameron happy, she could beat him until the day he died... not that he'd ever tell her that.

After coughing out half a lungfull of wet sand, John rolled over onto his back with a groan, and deciding that being vertical was overrated anyways, he'd enjoy the beach from here for a while. "Why... doyou... do that?"

Cameron's face appeared upside down in his field of vision, hair framing her face while she regarded him quizzically, the slightest hint of a smile tugging the corner of her mouth upwards practically against her will. It still amazed him to witness it, a machine unable to control their responses, as much a slave to emotion as himself. "Do what?"

"You know what." Slapping a hand into the sand beside him, John fought to bring his breathing under control, never more happy to have quit smoking when he did.

Dropping down onto the spot he'd indicated, Cameron's hand drifted to where his neck met his shoulder and began kneading the tense muscles she found, also using the opportunity to scan her lover's vitals. "Someone has to keep you humble, John."

Groaning softly as her fingers smoothed away the tension in his shoulders, John rolled his eyes, "In that case - mission accomplished."

"I always complete my missions." Her smirk spread as she helped him back to his feet, "You shaved three minutes off your previous time."

"My last run was in Colorado, Cam. A few thousand feet of difference in elevation does tend to effect human breathing." John shook his head, "Remind me again why I'm sweating and miserable on what's supposed to be our first and only vacation before Judgment Day?

"Because you've been neglecting your physical conditioning lately." Cameron smiled indulgently, palms splaying across his bare chest as she leaned into his larger form, "And because, this is what happens when you book a hotel room at a beach destination with twenty-four hours notice during Spring Break season. The room wont be ready until ten-hundred hours."

"Hmmmm," His murmur died away to a dull rumble in his chest, "So, sixs hours on a beach with Cameron Phillips."

John's smile was wicked, pulling her more tightly against him, "Whatever could we do to kill some time?"

"You could run some more." Cameron provided helpfully, earning her the huff of indignation she was looking for.

Dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, he started gathering up their things where they'd left them, scattered among the sand near the truck. "Sometimes I think you enjoy this 'chase down the human' game a little too much."

"It's what I was designed for, John. Admit it," Pulling on the gray t-shirt he handed to her, Cameron let her eyes wander along John's exposed chest one last time before he too shrugged on his shirt, "You like it when I catch you."

"Soooo," Smirking slightly, he turned back to her, brushing a few stray hairs across a cheek and tucking them gently behind her ear. "Six whole hours to kill..."

After a quick peck to the cheek, she was past him, already climbing into the passenger side of the truck, "You're still cut off."

"What? But I...," Grumbling to himself, John sulked as he rounded the front of the Dodge. "Lorne is _so_ on KP."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 5th, 2011  
0845 hrs

"Oh, come on!" Rachel groaned into her hands, tossing herself back into the couch theatrically, "This is kidnapping, Reese!"

"No," Derek's gaze told her just how little he cared about the massive hangover the young woman was obviously experiencing, "This is motivation. No one leaves this room until I find out where Connor is!"

It was everyone else's turn to groan, a few in the half-dressed crowd scattered around the media room on the ground floor of the barracks choosing to express their displeasure with crude gestures rather than words. If there had been a fight on, they'd have barreled into it without hesitation, but there wasn't and most just wanted to spend one of their last peaceful Sundays on Earth watching cartoons in peace.

"Keeping us in here isn't going to accomplish anything." One of the few in the room able embrace logic before breakfast, Private Carmack shrugged. "We don't know shit, L.T. ."

"I know _you_ don't." Reese waved dismissively, earning him an irritated look from his subordinate, which he pointedly ignored. "But someone does, and we're not leaving until they spill it."

Glancing up from her coffee through the curtain of her bangs, Cole shook her head. "Why don't you ask his girlfriend? They're practically joined at the fucking hip."

"Cameron's gone too," Derek growled, "Along with my truck."

Pausing to light a cigarette, Darla stood from the table with a pissy smile, "Well then, mystery solved."

"What?"

"She snapped, killed John, and is using your truck to bury him in the desert." Rolling her eyes, the Corporal set off for the stairs, "Can't say I didn't warn you."

"Cole!" Derek's glare might have been more effective if it hadn't been aimed at her retreating back, "Get your ass back here!"

"I take my orders from Connor." Not bothering to look back, Darla whipped her right hand back over her shoulder and flipped him the bird with a flourish. "Call me when you need something metal destroyed. 'Till then, I'm going back to bed."

Derek just wished he'd had a camera on hand to catch that little display. He would have labeled it, 'reason number one why John Connor doesn't get vacation days' and made it the kid's screensaver. After he learned how to change a screensaver, that is.

What the hell was John thinking? Did he somehow convince himself that these people stuck together because of some Band of Brothers bullshit? These were Resistance fighters, Tech-Com soldiers, they fought for Connor or not at all. Most had learned a long time ago that if you wanted to survive a battle against Skynet, you listened to John, because anyone else was likely to get you killed. It made it exceedingly difficult to control them when you happened to be that 'anyone else'.

Cole's display had already shifted the balance of the room, a few others were already glancing towards the stairs as if contemplating a quick retreat, others just fixed Reese with what could only be described as a 'haha, what are you gonna do now?' stare. Reed and O'Brien were the only two who remained firmly rooted, most likely because they understood the only reason Darla had gotten away with it was because she could have ripped Derek's throat out with her nail clippers before he'd managed to draw his weapon. People like that tended to get special privileges in the Resistance.

Sliding forward in his chair so he could reach behind his back, Derek removed his .45 and slapped it down on the table top, making a point to cock back the hammer before glancing around the room, "Okay. Lets try this again..."

Austin practically vaulted from his chair, not at all liking the sudden left turn this situation had taken. He was not prepared to die for this, especially not before his morning tea, "There might be somethin' I can do ta help ya locate the pair, but you're givin' me the gun before I tell ya."

Derek quirked a brow, eying the tech suspiciously, "How about I shoot you in the leg and you tell me anyways?"

"I lowjacked the truck." Lucas spit the words out in a rapid stream, not even bothering to dodge the random objects Connor's more loyal fighters heaved at him for breaking his silence. "Ouch! That was bloody coaster!"

Reese's glare could have peeled paint, "You put a tracking device on my truck?"

"Aye. Connor's orders. All the vehicles have 'em." The tech rubbed the quickly growing knot on the side of his head Lorne's steady aim had put there, "In fairness, that's why I wanted your gun before I toldja. So, it wouldn't really be fair to go a-shootin' me now..."

"We'll talk about that later." The Resistance soldier pointed towards the laptop on a nearby table, "After you find out where they went."

"Reeto then." Austin practically left a smoke trail on his way over to the table, the rest of the soldiers dispersing at Derek's nod.

Unfortunately, before Reese had a chance to get any info from him, they were interrupted as Charley barreled into the barracks in his sweats, frantically waving Derek over towards the door.

Rolling his eyes at the interruption, he trudged over nonetheless. "What now?"

"Not here." Grabbing the other man by his good arm, Charley marched back out the door as quickly as he'd entered. They were half way to the house before Derek decided he'd had enough of being led around like a dog and dug his heels in, yanking his arm free and glaring at the buzz-cut medic.

"You have about five seconds to explain..."

"Cut the shit, Derek." The look of worry on Dixon's face was enough to smooth over the frayed nerves, but just barely, "Something's wrong with Sarah."

"Wrong?" In Derek's head, that could have meant any number of things, most of which weren't worthy of his attention at the moment. He was well aware of her issues with John and had decided to imitate Switzerland as far as that mess went, when you got between two Connors the outcome was never pretty. "As in?"

"As in curled up in the corner of her bedroom, hugging her knees to her chest while rocking back and forth muttering like a mental patient!" Charley shook his head, running a hand feverishly over his scalp, "I couldn't even get her to acknowledge me and it took enough tranqs to drop a rhino just to get her back to sleep."

Glancing up towards the sky, John's uncle took a minute to curse his General's stupidity before slapping a reassuring hand onto the older man's shoulder, "Okay, your problem first."

* * *

Panama Beach,  
Florida panhandle  
March 6th, 2011  
1852 hrs

"Okay, General, time to bring your A-game."

Running a super-critical eye over the man looking back at him in the mirror, John went about knocking the items off his 'Cameron's Perfect Date Night' checklist one by one in exactly the same fashion he would have used to psyche himself up before any stressful and potentially dangerous mission. It's not like they were going to get a second chance at this, so not screwing it up was pretty high on the priority list.

After moving their things into the room, a beach view that was costing the younger Connor more than Derek had spent on the Dodge, he'd sprung his surprise, tickets to the ballet, and given Cameron free reign to get things ready. That had been his first mistake.

Ring shopping alone had taken four hours. He'd picked out his band in five minutes, a simple white gold ring with a somewhat matte finish that fit snugly enough to ensure it wasn't coming off, no matter how far across the room a terminator might toss him. Cameron hadn't been all that impressed, but John would rather his wedding ring not reflect light at the wrong time during a firefight and make him a target, he was old-fashioned that way.

Cameron had been far more... thorough, with her selection process. They'd probably considered more than three hundred before she'd decided, asking his opinion about every one, getting more and more frustrated when he couldn't think of anything to say beyond 'that's pretty'. Seriously? What was she looking for? He didn't know a princess cut from a baseball diamond.

But as soon as they walked into store number five, her eyes had landed on it and there was no going back. Ironically, the only ring she didn't ask his opinion about was the one she ended up choosing.

"Women." John bemoaned to the figure in the mirror, who didn't look all that sympathetic.

He was forced to admit though, it was the perfect ring for Cameron Connor to wear. The diamonds were arranged in a straight horizontal line, recessed completely into the band itself, which was supposedly 18kt white gold, but looked more like polished titanium to John's untrained eye. A series of precious stones confined inside a shiny metal skeleton... a psychologist could have a field day analyzing the machine's choice of jewelry, but all Cameron had said was, "It's perfect."

_So, hard part over, right? Nope. John Connor never gets off that easy._

Apparently, you can't watch people prancing around a stage in glorified underwear without looking like you were attending a state function at the White House, which John though was pretty fucking ironic, but this was Cameron's night, so here he was. Yanking down the cuffs of his new tux, John glared down at the royal blue tie before adjusting the knot into a position that felt a little less like a controlled strangulation. He'd forgone shaving, because for all her complaints about his scruffy appearance, the cyborg had told him more than once that she 'appreciated the sensation', which he was inclined to take as a good sign. It also made his scars a little less noticeable, which was what he was going for.

Smearing a small amount of palmade between his palms, John ran his hands through his short hair randomly, for all intents making it as messy as humanly possible. He hadn't had a haircut in more than a month, Corporal Cole being the resident barber made that an awkward situation all around, and as much as he hated to admit the liquid metal terminator's opinion mattered to him, Weaver's Chia Pet comment played a definite role in his decision. He had the rest of his life to sport the buzz-cut, might as well enjoy these last few days.

Rinsing the sticky substance from his hands and drying them quickly, John slipped his new ring on with a goofy smile. _First night out with the wife_.

Though it obviously didn't bother Cameron, it felt a little weird for John to not have an actual wedding ceremony. He imagined there should be one particular moment you could point to when you stopped being in a relationship and started being in a marriage, but hell, nothing else in his life had ever been normal, why should his marriage be any different?

Still, he would always remember the look in her chocolate eyes when he slipped the ring onto her dainty finger, leaning close as if whispering the words, keeping them just between themselves, made them more sacred, "No matter what happens. No matter where I go or what I have to do to win this war, when I come home, it will always be to you. Because just by existing, you make it all worth it."

"I love you." She'd been so transfixed by his words, she barely responded when he kissed her, "Cameron Connor."

It wasn't like it was going to change much, Cameron had been taking care of him well before they'd started having sex. She cooked most of his meals, cleaned up his room, nagged him when he wasn't sleeping or eating enough, even taking care of him when he fell ill last winter. She was the best thing in his life, and these days, the only thing he could be sure of was that he wanted to spend the rest of it with her.

"John, the performance starts in forty-five minutes."

_Speak of the Devil_.

Giving himself a final once-over, John snagged his suit jacket and flipped off the light before making his way into the hotel room proper, head bobbing side to side as he adjusted the Glock at his back. They may be on vacation, that didn't mean they were stupid.

"Good to go when you are, Mrs. Connor." He smirked, rounding the corner with a swagger, "You know, I think...."

John's mouth ceased to function properly as soon as he caught sight of her, he imagined it probably had something to do with his chin flopping to the floor and his tongue rolling out Looney Toons style. Cameron had been facing away from him, using the mirror above the dresser to finish her makeup, but had paused long enough to glance back over her shoulder at his arrival.

The silky black dress draped over, and accentuating, every feminine curve was either a gift from the Gods or a crime against humanity, his final determination would weigh heavily on whether or not she'd let him remove it with his teeth later. Though the skirt was modest enough, falling to just below her knees, the slit plunging from her dainty neck to the small of her back had his fingers literally itching to explore every inch of exposed skin, to slide the thin straps from her shoulders and...

_Oh, I am _so_ going to the special hell._

"What?" Cameron's innocent expression stood in sharp contrast to the way she turned to him slowly, clearly showcasing every feature of her ensemble. "John?"

"Huh?" Hit wits having abandoned him a long time ago, John could only stutter awkwardly. "I... I think I'm gonna like the ballet."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note - Special announcement, I mentioned to a number of my readers that I 'cast' my OCs before I start writing, and due to a number of requests I've posted the list on my profile here. So if you're interested in seeing my idea of what these people look like, check it out. There's also a pic of Cameron's wedding band, which my beta Bigbew was kind enough to find for me. This chapter felt a little strange to write, two story lines, one light and happy and the other decidedly... not. Hope in the end it meshed well, let me know what you think. Due to popular demand, I will be writing the M-rated oneshot, it will be set during the next chapter and released sometime during the next week or so.

Thanks as always to my reviewers, you guys really make the effort worth it.


	20. Chapter 20

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 20/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 04/31/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Intro monologue is in John's voice.

**_There is only one hard law when it comes to humanity - the Law of Unintended Consequences._**

**_There is only one hard section of that law - that good intentions often do more damage than bad ones._**

**_Remove a soldier from danger, put a machine in his place, pat yourself on the back for saving a life._**

**_Create an umbrella to protect us from nuclear annihilation, pat yourself on the back for shielding millions._**

**_They had the best intentions, they killed billions more than Hitler could have dreamed of._**

**_If I'm cold, if I'm detached, it's not a lack of humanity you're seeing, it's a reluctance to walk that path of good intentions._**

**_Because that's the path that led us here._**

Chapter 20 - 'Falling Into Place'

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo Colorado  
March 5th, 2011  
0930 hrs

There really was only one upside to being Derek Reese at the moment, and that was when some lucky cyborg or another finally punched his ticket to hell, he'd have a pretty good idea what he was in for.

Jumping back from the skillet he'd just tossed half a pack of bacon onto at once as it spewed white-hot grease across his face and single functioning arm, he caught sight of Savannah snickering a bit before turning back to her breakfast companion.

"So," Brushing a bit of errant red hair back behind her ear, the girl ran her eyes over Wilson's face inch by inch as if she could find some clue to confirm his claims, "You're like my friend John Henry?"

"Affirmative." Wilson nodded woodenly, not in the least bothered by Savannah's inspection. She already treated him with more respect than most the Resistance fighters, "Though I am a more primitive design, our construction is similar enough for your assumption to remain valid."

Savannah's eyebrows rose slightly, a smile breaking out across her face at the machine's words. He was _just_ like John Henry, "I'll take that as a yes."

"Hey midget." Derek called from over the divider, "How do you like your bacon?"

Rolling her eyes a bit at what had quickly become the Resistance fighters' nickname for her, the younger Weaver at least appreciated the effort the man was displaying. Cooking was obviously not his thing, and dealing with children seemed positively alien to him. "Crispy, but not burnt."

"Crispy but not burnt." Reese repeated it twice before turning back to the stove, his next words obviously owing more to the need to psyche himself up than to reassure Savannah of his abilities. "I can do that."

Unsure of the man's response, but unwilling to let young Savannah's dietary requirements be neglected unnecessarily, Wilson turned to Derek, "I could assist you in preparing the meal."

"I think I can handle it." He'd managed to keep Kyle in one piece through the apocalypse and beyond, he liked to at least pretend he'd had a small hand in shaping John over the past few years, and frankly Derek was a little offended the way no one around the compound seemed confident in his abilities to look after the kid while Sarah recovered. _If_ Sarah recovered.

Charley hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest, the woman was making even Reese look well adjusted by comparison. Not that he held it against her, in the soldier's opinion, everyone was allowed a little mental breakdown now and then. It was a philosophy shared by pretty much anyone who had survived a Skynet interrogation. Sometimes a good freak-out was the only thing that kept you from eating your own gun.

Still, eying his new charge over the divider, he admitted that Sarah could have picked a more opportune time for it. O'Brien had sworn she was going to sucker one of the others into taking over for him once the scout sniper finished her morning perimeter check, but that should have been more than forty-five minutes ago, so here he was, making breakfast.

This was a crystal clear example of the problem with John's compassionate streak - it always bit Derek in the ass.

Across the kitchen, Savannah quirked her head to the side in a fashion similar to Cameron, "Why do they call you Wilson?"

"It's my name."

"Okay." Luckily for the ten year old, she had ample experience dealing with cyborgs, and had developed an almost zen-like patience in the process. "_Why_ is it your name?"

Wilson quirked a brow, "Why is Savannah your name?"

"Because, that's what my mom and dad named me." She shrugged, "What about you?"

"I have neither a mother nor a father." The cyborg seemed genuinely intrigued by the young human's interest in him. Most humans, both now and in the future, treated him as little more than a fixture of whatever room he was in at the moment, if not with open fear or disdain. "My endoskeleton was constructed on an assembly line, my biological components artificially grown. Skynet created me."

The look of apprehension in the girl's face told Derek she knew more about the future than either she or her mother had let on, a fact he filed away for a day when it might prove important.

Still, the girl soldiered on, "Skynet named you?"

"Negative." Wilson had progressed far enough in his development to know which gestures to use during simple conversation, but his movements would never be as fluid as Cameron's, showcased currently by the shake of his head - left once, right once, done. It was sufficient, the machine felt no need to waste time or mechanical energy on extraneous niceties, "It provided me an alpha-numeric designation. General Connor deemed this insufficient following my reprogramming."

" 'You're not an alarm clock,' " Hearing the General's raspy voice emanating from the machine caused an uncontrolled shiver to run down Derek's spine, " 'People have names.' "

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Savannah clapped her hands in front of herself excitedly, smiling ear to ear. "So, John named you. That was nice of him."

_He names all his pets_. Tossing the bacon onto a waiting plate, Derek started cracking eggs into the pan one-handed, only mildly scalding himself with the greasy blowback this time.

"Still," She shook her head, "It's kind of a weird name for a robot."

The T-800 regarded her quizzically, "Your friend is named John Henry. He is a machine named after an iconic figure of American folklore - a human famous for defeating a machine designed to replace him. Is that not a 'weird' name for a robot?"

Savannah had to give the cyborg that much, "I guess when you put it that way..."

"I did put it that way," Wilson confirmed stoically.

"See?" Savannah glanced over towards Derek, practically beaming with pride. "I _told_ you he was funny."

"Oh yeah," The Resistance fighter confirmed sardonically, "Funny as a barrel of monkeys playing with a live grenade."

Easily ignoring the man's attitude, she turned her attention back to Wilson, "So, were you named after someone in particular?"

"Negative." The slightest hint of a smile showed at the corner of the cyborg's mouth, "I was named after a volley ball."

In the middle of taking a sip of his coffee, Derek suddenly found hot bean squeezings shooting out his nose. "Shit!"

"Hey!" Savannah shook her head, an oddly adult look of exasperation on her face. "Young ears?"

"Sorry." Wiping up the spillage with the sleeve of his shirt, he shrugged sheepishly. "I'll admit it, _that_ was funny."

Wilson quirked his head, "I don't understand."

"That's probably a good thing." Shaking her head at the soldier's attitude, Savannah couldn't help but note she often found her cybernetic friends to be far more kind and polite than their human counterparts. Cammy had even braided her hair, though she _had_ made her promise not to call her Cammy in the presence of the soldiers. Apparently, it was very important to the cyborg to continue being seen as 'bad ass'. "Why would someone name you after a volley ball?"

"It is a pop-culture reference." The cybog explained like he was reciting a weather report, "_Cast Away_, starring Tom Hanks, released December twenty-second, 2000. A man marooned on an island when his plane crashes forms a strong psychological bond with an inanimate object, a volley ball with a face painted on it he named Wilson because of it's brand affiliation."

It was Derek's turn to quirk a brow, "You've seen the movie?"

Pivoting on his chair to face the soldier, Wilson shoving two fists outward at chest level, "I gave it two thumbs up."

"Wow." Reese popped a strip of bacon into his mouth before turning back to the skillet, "I guess everybody really is a critic."

* * *

Panama Beach,  
Florida panhandle  
March 6th, 2011  
2245 hrs

John Connor had always survived by making sure he blended into the background, a practiced skill of making oneself as uninteresting and unassuming as possible. In school it had never taken much, just an awkward shrug and a few mumbled words dropped you into the anti-social weirdo category before you could snap your fingers, and from then on out you only popped up on the radar if some jock was having a fight with his girlfriend that day.

Considering that, it was little wonder that his date night with Cameron had left him on the verge of a panic attack. Ironically, standing in a thousand dollar suit with the most beautiful girl/cybernetic killing machine in the room on his arm, he'd never felt more like a freak.

Cameron had been unusually distracted, embracing the rare opportunity to enjoy something that interested her instead of just the humans around her, only peripherally aware of her lover's distress at being the center of attention. John hadn't really considered before leaving the room that every other red-blooded male would probably have the same reaction he did to seeing Cameron in that dress, he blamed the fact the majority of his blood had been caught waging a battle a few operational sectors lower than his brain at the time.

Those of them with enough willpower to glance up from her chest long enough to catch sight of him were doing wonders for his self-esteem too. Nothing like seeing that 'what the fuck is she doing with him' look a few hundred times to make you feel like a General who saves the human race.

Despite all of that though, he was proud of himself. He hadn't fallen asleep during the ballet, a feat he thought there should be a medal for, because it was the single most boring thing John had ever had to endure in his entire life, which was saying something considering he'd once sat through two hours of Olympic curling.

He kept himself busy by scanning the crowd around them and rating the likelihood each one was a terminator, but once he'd conceded to himself the possibility one could be liquid metal, it defeated the exercise because it could have been any one of them, even the eight year old with the pigtails, though a T-1000 masquerading as a child was a concept just too creepy for John to contemplate. That had managed to chew up about twenty minutes, but his eyelids were leaden by the thirty minute mark.

For the first time since departing the compound John cursed himself for leaving his phone behind as a clear punctuation of his desire to be left the hell alone... he couldn't even play Tetris. He entertained himself through the rest of the first hour by trying to come up with innovative ways to incapacitate a T-800, but the best he managed to come up with was a long-shot that involved dropping a truck off a building and using elevator cable to lay a cunning decapitation trap.

John was starting to learn a valuable lesson about his tactical ability - it seemed to respond poorly to sexual frustration.

Though his experience with relationships was pretty limited, even John wasn't stupid enough to ignore how lucky he was. After a lie like this, most guys would be on their hands and knees by this point begging for an end to the cold shoulder. Cameron didn't do the cold shoulder, at least when it came to him, their interactions were exactly the same as they always were. But when he moved in for anything beyond a platonic kiss she shut him down with the cold efficiency of a Soviet border guard.

John was also starting to learn a valuable lesson about his new wife - you really wanted to avoid pissing off a woman who never gets distracted or forgets and has a full psychological profile in her memory banks telling her exactly how to hit you where it will hurt the most.

_And I thought mom was scary..._

He'd spent the rest of the performance watching something far more interesting than the ballet; Cameron's reaction to it. Though her body didn't seem to move during the entire performance, her face was more alive than he'd ever seen it outside their bedroom. Eyes dancing back and forth in time with the performers, eyebrows quirking, a small tilt of the chin, the cutest little crinkle along her forehead. She really was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on, and it would never cease to amaze him that she'd chosen him.

After the ballet ended, they'd made the short drive back to the hotel to change into more appropriate attire for his second surprise, which was where things started going wrong again.

Cameron was dubious, "This is your idea of a romantic accompaniment to the ballet?"

"Come on, Cam!" Whipping his t-shirt off with boyish enthusiasm and tossing it onto a deck chair, John put on his most devastating smile, "Do you think I would have gone to all this trouble if I thought you wouldn't enjoy it? It'll be fun!"

Leaning slightly over the glimmering turquoise body and eying it like it was about to reach up and bite her, Cameron quirked her head in John's direction. "Is this a practical joke? You said those tend to get out of hand."

"I said _yours_ tend to get out of hand," John corrected, unable to entirely suppress a smirk. "Derek almost killed me."

"Because you couldn't stop laughing at him every time you saw him." Cameron shook her head, not in the least understanding how his reaction was her fault.

"Yeah," He snorted, "Well, when a guy doesn't have eyebrows for six months... its noticeable."

Cameron frowned at her husband's mention of one of the few missions she hadn't completed to her satisfaction. Derek's coveted facial fuzz had been the target, his eyebrows merely collateral damage. "I still don't understand why the depilatory failed to effect the rest of his facial hair. I wrote a letter to the manufacturer about it but they never responded."

"Listen," He assured her, "I paid off the manager and we've got the place to ourselves all night. We're not likely to get another chance to do this in the future, and its something I wanted you to experience."

Glancing between him and the edge of the tile, she actually looked a little anxious, "Don't you want to go back to the room?"

"Now you're just stalling." Kicking off his shoes with a smile, it was John's turn to roll his eyes, "What? Afraid you're gonna rust?"

Cameron scowled, "That is not my concern."

Strolling barefoot across the checkerboard of blue and white tiles, John tried a more sympathetic approach, "You've jumped off buildings, gone hand-to-hand with Triple-8s, and survived the wrath of Sarah Connor more than anyone else outside yours truly here, so I guess I'm just having a little trouble understanding why you're afraid to..."

"I'm not afraid." He'd never heard Cameron sound more offended, "I simply wasn't designed for this."

John nodded, "That's okay, neither were humans but we've managed to figure it out."

Dammit, and John had almost made it an entire day without forcing her to whip out her 'are you slow' look, "Human skeletons aren't composed of metallic alloys."

Okay. Gentle ribbing had failed, sympathy was only frustrating her, John needed a new tactic.

_Bingo._

Closing the distance between them in two quick steps, John wrapped his arms around her, one hand drifting lazily up her exposed back while the other framed the left side of her face. He couldn't help but smile when her lips parted almost on instict, eyes fluttering closed in anticipation as his breath fanned out across her cheek.

"Cameron?" Focusing on her auditory sensors was growing increasingly difficult when all she wanted to do was lose herself in his hands, in his lips. "Do you know what time it is?"

She was confused, normally by this point he would have been removing her bikini. Unfortunately, the only response she was able to summon at the moment was a lazy shake of her head, lips still parted though beginning to turn down into a pout that made John's knees weak.

Then all she could feel was the warm, damp air of the room rushing in around her as he turned away from her with a rakish grin, "Time to catch the human!"

For a long moment Cameron just stood there, shocked to immobility as her new husband took a few jogging steps before diving headfirst into the deep end, droplets of chlorine-laden pool water splattering across her exposed torso. Then, after taking a moment to ensure her ponytail was secured properly, she began marching resolutely down the steps into the pool after him.

There was no _way_ she was forfeiting her perfect record at catch the human.

* * *

Wernher von Braun Proving Ground  
Location: Classified  
March 7th, 2011  
0245 hrs

General Robert Brewster had learned to be wary of surprises, and political ones inevitably proved the worst of all, a point of view only reinforced by the suit-clad pencil neck seated across the table from him.

"You don't understand Mr. Secretary," Brewster shook his head, "I'm not saying it won't be finished on schedule, in fact, we remain well ahead of the deadlines presented when the program launched. I'm trying to impress upon you the way recent developments in the software have called into doubt the feasibility of the entire program."

"You're talking about an intelligence, even if it is artificial, and there is just no way to ensure it will continue to operate the way you want it to as it evolves. We expected it to learn, we designed it to learn, but in the first twelve hours of our test run we saw memory kernels multiplying at a geometric rate, there is no telling how quickly something like that could get out of control."

"Forgive me General," Having been the Secretary of Defense for more than two years, William Conrad had an intimate knowledge of the various levels of military double-speak, "But that sounds like a real fancy way of sayin' you've got yourself a lemon."

Colonel Edwards, Brewster's head of programming shrugged a bit, "Skynet works exactly the way it was designed to, which sir, if you don't mind me saying so, has been the problem from the beginning. Our project goals have been changed more times than I can count, and every department involved wants her doing their work for them. Hell, last week we got a memo from the Joint Chiefs asking if Skynet could handle the Army payroll!"

"Is there someone at this table capable of giving me a straight answer or do they remove that part of your brain during OCS?" After more than an hour, Conrad's temper was running out. Either these guys had the answer to their problem or they were trying to cover their asses and the United States government was out a half a trillion dollars for the AI equivalent of the Chevy Pinto. "I want to know, will your system work as advertised?"

Glancing around the room, the General decided to bite the bullet and unveil the elephant in the room. "The problem, Mr. Secretary, is that Skynet simply wasn't designed for what you want it to do. This program has spanned three Presidential administrations, sir, each one with their own ideas about what it meant and what role within the military infrastructure it would fill."

Finally reaching the point they'd all been dancing around, Conrad nodded, "It _was_ originally designed for this, wasn't it?"

"More or less." Flipping open the practically phonebook-sized folder in front of him, Brewster did his best to outline his fears. "The Skynet program was originally conceived as the central hub of an anti-ballistic missile shield. Considering the quantity and speed of incoming targets during a full-scale nuclear deployment, no human would have been able to coordinate our defenses quickly enough to have a significant impact."

"The Soviet Union was on it's way out," He continued, "The Joint Chiefs were shitting themselves at the possibility of dozens of former satellite nations now in economic free fall, all with their hands on some of the most devastating weapons ever devised and a desperate need for quick infusions of foreign currency."

"The Air Force had been working on shield tech for more than twenty years, but we knew the kind of computing power necessary for running it wouldn't exist for more than a decade, which is exactly what we told the Chiefs." Pulling a section of the file free from it's metal clasps, he slid it across the table to the Secretary, "They told us not to worry about it. We were still working under the auspices of SDI at that point, but our computing needs meant we were to begin working in parallel with the Army's StratNet program."

Thumbing through the papers, Conrad quirked a brow, "StratNet? Never heard of it."

"It was a Cold War toy, sir." The General smirked, "A byproduct of the heyday of defense spending, when anything that sounded even remotely plausible had billions tossed at it like confetti. See, the Army figured that if you could build a computer no human could defeat at chess, then you could build a computer no human could defeat at war. The perfect battlefield commander, it would never get tired and make a mistake, it would never get distracted by bad news from home, and it could be aware of the entire battlefield situation at the same time. You know the spiel, it's what they give us every time they have a new toy, while acting like they're not calling us morons who can't handle our jobs so they need to create a machine to do it for us."

"We can't let sentimentality put at us a strategic disadvantage, Brewster." The Secretary barely looked up from the documents to acknowledge the man, the lecture memorized by now, "If we don't build it first, our enemies will."

Brewster didn't point out that was always the second part of the argument for pushing forward when they shouldn't, he doubted the man would appreciate his observation. "Bottom line, StratNet was about as complete a failure as possible without the building housing the server suddenly combusting."

"How so? Couldn't beat the human Generals we lined up against it?"

"No sir," Having cut his teeth on the second generation of that program, Colonel Edwards explained, "It always won. Usually in a few hours."

The Secretary was starting to feel that frustration returning, "Then how the hell could it be a colossal failure?"

"You didn't ask _how_ it won, sir." Edwards scratched the back of his neck nervously.

Conrad snorted, "What, Colonel? Did it cheat?"

"No," The General's voice was grave, trying desperately to impress upon the man the state of the intelligence they were proposing he place in charge of all NATO forces in less than a month. "Every war, every scenario, it always ended the same way. We launched our missiles, the rest of the world launched theirs, and the computer spit out projected survival rates it deemed 'acceptable'. It was designed to win sir, and it did, unfortunately it didn't have a concept of limiting a conflict to preserve human life."

"When they brought in the Air Force," Brewster motioned towards Colonel Edwards, "We focused on refining the hardware. We figured that with enough memory, enough processing power, we could create an AI capable of the kind of higher level thinking necessary to emulate human thought processes."

"Then came Cyberdine, and everything changed. They'd been pitching that beauty for our first generation UAVs for months, but by then the Cold War was way over and the blank-check era along with it. Needless to say, their asking price was steep." Flipping through the folder, Robert removed a sheaf of papers titled Mk-XIII CPU. "A terrorist strike destroyed the bulk of their R&D department, company folded shortly afterwords, we ended up being able to buy their research for chump change."

"When I say this was next generation tech, I want you to understand what I mean, sir." Brewster placed his palms on the table, leveraging himself up into a standing position. "The reason Cyberdine themselves had been unable to create their own damn design was because it required an element that couldn't be synthesized yet. It was there in the schematics for all to see, they knew it was necessary, but even the designer referred to it as a Universal Conductor, and pointed out it was only theoretical."

"So, this is new technology?" The Secretary was looking more enthusiastic by the second.

"Sir, _no one_ has this technology." Robert could feel the opportunity to dissuade the man slipping away quickly, "It took us three years to figure out what was necessary, and another three just to synthesize enough for the one chip, and we had to commandeer a particle collider to do it! If we hadn't had that Cyberdine data we wouldn't have stumbled across this for at least another thirty or forty years. Cyberdine called it Element X, the techs who created it just called it Omega, because the molecular structure is about as close as we're likely to get to perfection."

"So, let me see if I understand this." Will Conrad could practically feel the Presidential medal hanging around his neck, "We've got an unbeaten AI housed inside of a system straight out of Star Trek, and you feel this a _bad_ thing?"

"As I said, Mr. Secretary, Skynet wasn't designed for this." Motioning towards the papers now scattered across the table, Robert was practically pleading. "We took a military wargames program and tried to turn it into a missile defense AI. Then, a few years after the Soviets are gone and missiles seem like last week's problem, they tell us they want something capable of running their cyber warfare division, we spend two years retooling the software, only for your administration to walk in and tell us the real threat was North Korea and Iran lobbing nukes at us, so we're back to missile defense."

"General Brewster, we've been clear from the outset that this..."

"_Then_," He powered forward, ten years of frustration bleeding through every word passing his clenched teeth, "When all your next gen toys start throwing data at you so fast you can't sift through it quickly enough, you decide you want an all-seeing guardian to not only monitor your missile defense, not only coordinate troops in battle-spaces across the world, not only to monitor enemy transmissions and streamline intelligence gathering, but to do _all_ of that at the same time, and you tell us you want it ready in two years using an AI designed for simulated warfare and upgraded so frequently I don't even think _it _understands its purpose anymore."

Rolling his eyes at the man's outburst, Secretary Conrad folded his hands before him on the table. "Your report says more than ninety percent of your test runs were flawless."

Brewster nodded curtly, "Did they explain to you what happened the other ten percent of the time?"

"They gave me a general idea of the..."

"A general idea?" It was the General's turn to snort, "Allow me to make specific for you, sir. After the early failures in the StratNet incarnation, we figured the best way to keep the AI from unnecessary escalations would be to input a 'human factor' into the simulations. Think of them as cybernetic checks and balances, meant to pull the plug if Skynet goes homicidal and starts lobbing nukes over an enemy training exercise."

"That's how the system is designed General, which is why I don't understand your concerns." Rising himself and buttoning his suit jacket, Conrad started loading his briefcase, "There will always be a human in the loop."

"Not if it kills them." Brewster shook his head, "Let me make this crystal clear for you, sir, in three of our most recent tests Skynet tried to complete it's mission, the human elements tried to stop it, it immediately identified them as enemy combatants and launched our own forces against them!"

"Some performance anxiety is to be expected Colonel, but you have to see this from our perspective." Closing his briefcase, the Secretary checked his watch, scowling at the late hour and the General's continued intransigence. "If it works, we'll have a strategic advantage for the next fifty years, if it doesn't work, we pull the plug, no harm done, but we send a message that we have the technology capable of rendering these threats obsolete. At the very least we get the North Koreans and the Iranians back to the table for another round of talks."

Tossing a wave of dismissal towards the group, the older man hurried out the door without so much as a backward glance, "Either way gentlemen, we win."

* * *

T.B.C.

As always, thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, your words really make the time and effort put into this story worth it. I should be releasing the M-rated oneshot relatively shortly, it's currently about halfway finished. I know the last two chapters haven't forwarded the story a whole lot, but it's inevitable that there always comes a calm before the storm.


	21. Chapter 21

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 21/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 06/17/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Intro monologue is in John's voice.

**_The meek shall inherit the Earth _**

**_Because the brave will have died securing it for them._**

Chapter 21 - 'Code Red'  


* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 7th, 2011  
0705 hrs

Though Derek Reese wasn't generally the type of man you caught stopping to enjoy the scenery, even the jaded soldier found his booted feet grinding to a halt halfway down the short staircase connecting the front porch and the driveway.

The sun was just now starting to bleed through the cobalt horizon, the sky a swirling mass of blues, yellows, and the most vivid shade of purple he'd seen outside Cameron's wardrobe fading into a muted red where it met the bluffs in the distance. It was unseasonably warm for early spring in Colorado, most of the ice which had encrusted the surrounding trees had already melted, icicles which had finally lost their struggle with gravity lay like shattered soldiers along the path leading him towards the barn.

In fact, the woodsy scent carried by the warm breeze rolling in from the plains was almost enough to overcome the three inches of decaying plant matter he was wading through now that the snow had finally melted away. He never would understand how so many dead leaves ended up in an area predominantly dotted by evergreens, scrub brush, and the occasional cactus.

There was a lot about the world Derek couldn't seem to understand anymore.

One of the few upsides to being a grunt was that it tended to make life pretty simple. Proceed from point A to point B, take that hill, hold that trench, make sure the noisy end of the gun is always pointed at the enemy. Like he'd said, pretty simple. And through the years, no matter how many things around him had changed, he had always known who his enemy was. It was Skynet. It was metal. But that had been before John pulled his little mind-fuck on him and all that went straight out the window.

Derek survived on always being sure, he just wasn't the kind of man who allowed himself the luxury of doubt. He'd learned that the same way his brother had, horrible experience and the man who had shaped them all - John Connor.

So when he'd met his General's younger self, it was little wonder the wishy-washy shades of gray bullshit had worn thin almost instantly. He'd never imagined a scenario where he wouldn't feel comfortable telling John, or his mythical mother for that matter, that he'd killed a man who could have spawned Skynet. He had seen Connor execute men with his own hand for far less.

Derek had tried to mold him into that man, to erase the doubts and ensure he was prepared for the reality that awaited him... he supposed he'd succeeded at least somewhat. What he hadn't anticipated, though, was that the process would work both ways. Yeah, John had hardened a bit, but Reese just wasn't _sure_ anymore, and that bothered the hell out of him.

It had always been so easy to convince himself of his own superiority to the metal, at the worst killers, at the very best disposable tools. But at the end of the day, he was starting to see that this wasn't a difference, but something they had in common. What did Derek Reese have to offer this world but the same kind of death and destruction he had once accused only metal of being capable of?

If they had succeeded against the impossible and managed to stop Skynet, just what the hell would he have done? _Probably drink myself into an early grave_.

Where John had found strength in embracing his purpose in life, Derek found only an empty hole at the same realization. He was a killer, a destroyer, and he couldn't even blame 'programming' for it. It's just what he was good at.

Cameron had been designed with one purpose in mind - to kill John Connor, and yet she had managed to not only control herself, but had chosen to protect him, even to love him. Derek supposed he had realized that even in the beginning, and it was one of the reasons he had always hated the cyborg. From the moment he caught her dancing the first time he'd realized the truth, that even she was capable of doing something he couldn't, she could create something beautiful where before it hadn't existed.

He, the human, member of the race who had pioneered art, philosophy, and culture, could only unmake. Could only destroy. In that way, she was more _human_ than he would ever be.

It was a shitty wake up call.

Letting slip a weary sigh as he rounded the side of the barn, Derek was more than a little shocked to find the target of his search not only awake but uncharacteristically active for this hour. Maybe his luck was looking up, at least this way he didn't have to navigate the minefield that was a Resistance barracks at daybreak.

If Cole noticed his arrival, which he wasn't naive enough to believe she hadn't, she didn't let on to the fact, eyes remaining closed, body fluidly drifting through motions so practiced they came as easily as breathing. Like everyone else around the compound, Darla was obviously slipping back into her war-time routine as the days ticked down to Armageddon, one of the few signs Derek took any comfort in these days.

Reese was one of the few people alive in this time who would even recognize the style, its very existence leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Connor's Universal Defense system, a true wonder of science, martial arts, and the ruthless efficiency of metal.

In the latter stages of the war, when Skynet's production facilities were being knocked off in record time as their forces steamrolled the machines back towards the west coast, they'd found themselves in the unique position of fighting ever increasing numbers of brainwashed human slaves. Though it was a clear sign of the AI's increasing desperation and it's dwindling forces, at the time it had been a real problem for them.

Resistance soldiers weren't trained to fight humans, they were trained to fight metal, and there was never a need for hand-to-hand training against something that could snap your bones like twigs. But the Greys... they were the perfect infiltrators. They'd slither their way behind the lines in crowds of refugees, waiting like a ticking bomb for the opportunity to do real damage against their saviors.

The tattoo peaking out between Cole's low-slung sweatpants and her cutoff shirt was the legacy of those dark days, the infamous Double-H. Two hundred of the best Tech-Com had ever fielded were trained not only to kill their newest enemy, but to seek them out, to identify them before they had a chance to complete their mission. To terminate them.

They were ghosts, most of Command didn't even know they existed, and they answered to no one but Connor.

The Universal Defense system was a clear example not only of John's pragmatism, but of the reason why so many harbored the fear that their leader had become more machine than man. Grunts like Reese referred to it with a traditional sneer as, 'Tech-Judo', because they all knew where it had come from. Anyone who'd ever seen his buddy's throat ripped out by a T-800 knew.

In the darkest days of humanity's final victory, Connor had turned to the machines to learn how to kill his own kind. The first lesson his 'agents' absorbed was a full course in human anatomy, taught by one of the earliest reprogrammed T-800s. Skynet data being turned against human beings, training them to instinctively predict every possible defense to an attack, and how to get around it with minimal expenditure of time and energy.

Only twice in his career had Reese had the misfortune of seeing one of the General's elite at work, and at the time they'd been too happy to be left alive to worry about those who weren't. A hand-to-hand engagement against one was a mistake you regretted for the rest of your life - both seconds of it. Machine efficiency coupled with the ferocity only a human can bring to the fight...

It never lasted long and it was _never_ pretty.

As uncomfortable as their abilities made him, he also wasn't naive enough to fail to see their necessity at the time, nor was he blind enough to doubt their loyalty to Connor. Hell, it was one of the reasons he'd pushed John towards Cole practically since her arrival, she could have protected him nearly as well as the machine without that worrying little 'snap and rip his head off' factor.

But John, being John, never could do anything the easy way. _Just like his father_.

Bringing his wandering attention back to the woman balancing perfectly atop the flattened log they used as a chopping block, a quick sequence of jabs, each punctuated by a sharp exhalation quickly flowed into a side-kick, leaving her left leg extended for a three count before pulling it back into her center of gravity without so much as a wobble, the plaster cast still covering her left arm from elbow to knuckles not slowing her in the slightest.

"What do ya want, Reese?"

Derek quirked a brow, the fact her eyes remained closed meaning he didn't have to suppress his smirk, "How did you know it was me?"

"You slouch when you walk," Darla rolled her left shoulder low, hips pivoting a second later as she tucked into a one-footed spin, "It causes you to drag your left foot every few steps."

"Really?" He sounded surprised.

"Yeah." Mid-spin, Cole's body came to an abrupt halt, her right foot whipping out with an audible crack right towards Derek's face. Before the older man had a chance to blink her foot was simply there, her bare toes wiggling tauntingly less than half an inch beneath his chin. He wondered idly if the scarlet nail polish was a message, or just so the blood wouldn't fuck up her pedicure. "But it was that shitty aftershave Sarah got you for Christmas that gave you away."

"Criticism noted and agreed with." Forcing himself to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, Derek nodded. "I'll switch back to Old Spice."

"Good call." Only now opening her eyes while she retracted her foot and hopped down onto the grass, Darla retrieved her towel with a laugh. "Most guys would have pissed their pants. That's why I like you, Reese."

Derek snorted, "Bladder control?"

"Contempt for death."

He shrugged his uninjured shoulder, "Everybody dies eventually."

"That's what you think, LT." Darla wadded up the gym towel and ran it over the back of her neck, groaning a bit as the action stretched out her back. "I plan to live forever."

Derek sensed his window to strike finally slipping into place and couldn't keep a slightly shit-eating smirk from taking up residence on his face. Cole wasn't the only one who knew how to fuck with people's heads, "Well, they say the good die young. So I figure you've got two to three hundred years left in you."

Darla glanced up at him from under her bangs, jaw slowly grinding back and forth while she assessed him. "You don't wanna play this game, Reese."

"Why's that?"

"Because nobody wins." Flopping down onto the chopping block with an exaggerated eye-roll, Cole snagged her boots and began pulling them on. "Besides, you want something from me, so it's in your interest to keep me happy."

Eying the younger woman with his own appraising look, Derek was forced to remind himself why he hated intelligence types - nothing was ever the way it seemed and they _always_ had the drop on you. "What makes you think I want something?"

Wrapping the laces of her boot around her ankles a few times, Darla pulled them tight a little more forcefully than necessary. She knew what this was about and wanted absolutely no part of it. Judgment Day was almost on them, events were picking up speed with every tick of the clock, and Derek Reese wanted to know if she was going to keep up the 'Corporal Cole' act or get back to her old bag of tricks. What he didn't seem to grasp was that the answer to that question wasn't up to her - it was up to Connor, and she hadn't had a chance to bring it up with him lately.

But if he wanted to whip it out and see whose was bigger, who was she to discourage a little grandstanding?

"If this was about the other day you would have cornered me in the barracks." Blowing her bangs out of her face, Cole fired off her best 'I'm humoring you but don't push it', look. "It would have been stupid, but you would have wanted the men to see you're not afraid of me."

Her smile was feral, "Like I said - stupid."

"But you decided to catch me one-on-one, which tells me two things." Darla shook her head, "That you've found John and he's on his way home, which is why you don't feel the need to reassert your authority."

Derek nodded side to side. He would have been impressed, but that would have required coming into this _not_ understanding the woman's abilities already. That's how Cole operated, preying on the fact she was naturally underestimated. "And the second?"

"That whatever he's asked you to do for him has you scared shitless." She tossed two thumbs towards her chest, "Which leads us right back to why you want something from me."

"See, that's the part you misread, Corporal. I'm just the messenger." Using the woman's own trump card against her was the sweetest feeling Derek had allowed himself in a long time, "It's about what Connor wants from you."

The woman's shoulder squared almost unconsciously, chin tilting just a fraction of an inch to the left as she clucked her tongue. "Orders?"

"Put together a four man fire team." Derek pulled a folded up stack of printed airline receipts from his jacket pocket, handing them over along with a hundred thousand in cash. "Austin already booked you rooms in one of the airport hotels. John will meet you in Armenia in three days, he wants you to use the time and that money to arm yourselves."

Slipping the stack of bills into the waistband of her sweats as she stood, Cole was as focused as Derek could remember seeing her since her arrival. Apparently John's hunch had been right, the woman certainly more pliable when your words carried Connor's direct orders. "Mission?"

"Right up your alley Cole." Reese snorted slightly as he turned back for the house, "Its a termination."

* * *

Panama Beach,  
Florida panhandle  
March 7th, 2011  
1345 hrs

The first thing Cameron noticed when entering their hotel room was the obvious, and curious, absence of her husband.

Chin quirking to the side a few inches, she conducted a thorough scan of the room, checking it against her memory files prior to departing to detect any discrepancies. Cameron identified sixty-seven, the most prominent being the note laying atop her pillow. She eyed it accusingly while setting the Styrofoam boxes containing their lunch on the table beside the bed. Well, John's lunch and her chocolate fix in the form of a brownie doused with hot fudge. Considering the romantic atmosphere of the occasion, as well as the effort John had displayed the night before, for a moment she actually imagined the note might contain some of the flowery prose her data-banks indicated human males often provided during standard courtship practices.

Cameron had clearly forgotten who she was married to.

The note was one word, hastily scribbled - 'Downstairs'.

The only thing 'downstairs' was the hotel restaurant, which seemed to indicate John had woken from his post-coitus nap more quickly than anticipated and had gone downstairs to eat. Cameron glanced down at the food she'd purchased with a frown, now regretting she hadn't left a note of her own to explain her absence. John might even be angry with her.

In her defense, considering his usual habits and the amount of physical energy he'd expended in the last twenty-four hours, Cameron had assumed he would be dead to the world until early afternoon. For a nineteen year old her John was in excellent physical condition, but sex with a cyborg who never sleeps or tires tended to strain even his stamina to the limit. She considered this 'conditioning' to be one of the many beneficial side-effects of their relationship. He'd lost eight pounds since they started having sex and shaved three minutes off of his six-mile time.

For her part, Cameron had grown far more attached to the experience than she had ever thought she would. At first she had considered it a valuable building block for their expanding relationship as well as a biological necessity for John's physical and psychological well-being. Not that she didn't gain physical pleasure from the act, admittedly her own version of it, but pleasure all the same.

Over time though, she found that the connection she achieved with John during sex far outweighed the physical aspects. When they were joined, it felt like they were one person, like she could wrap herself up inside him and stay there forever. She felt alive. Real.

John tended to bottle up his emotions, becoming closed-off and sullen rather than lashing out as he had when he was younger. For a machine not completely versed in human emotions under the best of circumstances, it was incredibly frustrating trying to ascertain the triggers for his behavior. Sometimes, it seemed like he was foiling her efforts to understand him on purpose.

The only time he really let his walls drop was when they were making love. There was no war, there was no pressure, there was no _General_. Just Cameron and John.

She preferred it that way.

Checking her appearance quickly in the vanity's mirror, Cameron brushed a clump of unruly hair back behind her ear before setting off in search of John. What her search netted was less than satisfactory.

He was indeed in the downstairs restaurant, the bar, to be precise.

John was slouching on his stool, idly turning the tumbler full of amber liquor in front of him this way and that, the flimsy sheet of sodden napkin paper the bartender had provided as a coaster shredding and tearing in the most interesting patterns when viewed through the melting ice.

His distracted and listless facade stood out in sharp relief to the 'leisure wear' he'd picked up when they arrived, a bright red Hawaiian shirt dotted with numerous similarly garish flowers was unbuttoned over one of his standard desert issue tanks, tucked into a loose-fitting pair of khaki cargo shorts. He looked like he was about to enjoy a day at the beach, or he would have, had it not been for the luggage lying packed and ready sitting to one side of his stool.

Apparently, the honeymoon was over.

"Derek called." John didn't bother looking up from his drink, jaw grinding away in time with his mind.

Cameron was still trying to get over the fact he'd heard her approach. Either she was slipping or John hadn't been as distracted as he appeared to be. Unsure of the cause for his sudden shift in emotion, she decided to stick with the obvious, "You left your phone in Colorado."

He snorted a bit in response, "He must have had Austin track the Lowjack, he called the room phone."

"Sorry." Cameron frowned. She knew she should have registered them under something more original than Baum, but frankly, hadn't considered that Derek would prove so resourceful.

Swallowing the rest of his drink in one long gulp, John shook his head. "He's sending Wilson and Austin down to pick up the truck and our gear."

"We're not driving home?"

"We're not going home," John glanced at his watch distractedly, "Not yet. We've still got business that needs handling."

This had not been the game plan, even Cameron was aware of that much, which lead to one inevitable question, "What's wrong?"

Slapping a wad of bills onto the bar, John wobbled slightly as he rose from his stool, "Mom's sick."

"What? I thought that Catherine Weaver's treatment meant that..."

"Not like that." John cut her off with a wave of his hand before snagging their luggage and setting off for the doors, "Charley's doing everything he can."

Apparently he thought that explanation was sufficient, flipping on a pair of sunglasses as they emerged from the darkness of the lobby into the bright Florida sun, the Dodge was already waiting for them at the valet kiosk. John slipped the man a fifty before tossing their bags into the bed and climbing into the passenger seat without a word.

Cameron felt her brow crease unconsciously, looking around a bit helplessly before climbing up into the cab herself. _Did he blame her for Sarah's condition?_

John pointed out the window idly, slouching back into his seat, "Airport."

The cyborg could feel her frown deepen. _I am _not _a taxi cab_. "We're flying back to see Sarah?"

Beside her, John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, staring out the window at passing billboards, "I'm the last person she needs to see right now."

"Like I said," The tone of his voice worried Cameron more than anything else, "This is business. With all the Skynet problems we've been dealing with, its easy to forget that we've had mercenaries gunning for us for the last two months. I'd rather get this out of the way on my terms than risk interference in our final prep for Judgment Day."

Not at all pleased that their vacation had been brought to such a sudden end, Cameron was still more than prepared to get to work, one of the benefits of being a cyborg. "The mission?"

"Cole will be meeting us in Armenia with a team," The faintest hint of a smile teased the corner of John's mouth, "I've got a fourteen hour plane ride to figure out the details."

As she'd expected, this had _not_ been the plan. They'd been driving in silence for nearly ten minutes before Cameron felt comfortable enough to broach the subject, "You don't want to go home."

He looked irritated, but didn't respond, so she pressed forward, "Because of Sarah."

"I had the best intentions..." John's voice probably wouldn't have been audible to a human, he was likely talking to himself as he continued to stare out the window. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he changed the subject on a dime. "You have your note, right? We're gonna need it to get past security."

Perfectly aware of what he was doing, the slightly pleading look in her John's eyes had her deciding to overlook his deflection. "I have my note."

"Good." He nodded distractedly before turning back to the window, "Then everything's fine."

* * *

Northwest Florida Beaches International Airport  
Florida panhandle  
March 7th, 2011  
1450 hrs

For all the shit he tended to give his uncle, Derek was as reliable as the sun when you gave him an order. Their tickets had been waiting for them at the counter, first class tickets at that, but considering their quickly throw-together cover, it made sense.

Sarkissian may be a retired KGB officer with mob connections to them, but to his community he was an international shipping magnate with a corporate headquarters in downtown Yerevan. Coons had already sent info to Cameron's PDA about open real estate in the area, which they'd be checking out as potential bases of operations once they arrived.

John would be posing as an American internet prodigy looking for low-cost property in Eastern Europe to house the hardware side of his operation. It would cover not only his young age, but would explain why he didn't know a damn thing about this kind of business transaction, which was where Cole would pick up the slack. Once Cameron coached her that is. For all her infiltration abilities, Darla had been three years old on Judgment Day, and didn't know the dow jones from Indiana Jones.

The pieces were already falling into place as they made their way through the line leading to the TSA checkpoint, lending John a much-needed feeling of control in his life. He couldn't do anything about Sarah, but he could at least do the job she'd trained him to. He could be the soldier she wanted him to be.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely registered the, not exactly unexpected, blaring of the metal detector as Cameron followed through behind him. Snagging their bags off the conveyor belt and slipping them over his shoulders, John turned around just in time to see Cameron proudly handing off her doctor's note, thoroughly detailing the long list of 'prosthesis' dotting her body.

The TSA agent standing in front of her wasn't paying much attention to the note though, eyes darting back and forth between the scrap of paper and his wife's chest. Cameron must have taken his indecision for doubt, because she added in a chipper, helpful voice, "I have a plate in my head."

At the man's quirked brow, she smiled sweetly and provided one of the options John had given her years before for just such an occasion. "Skiing accident."

"Uh... huh." Quickly passing the note back over to Cameron, the man motioned with his wand for them to move along, still far more focused on Cameron's skirt than his job.

John would have been angrier if that hadn't been exactly the reaction he was betting on seeing them through the security checks. Skynet really had created the perfect killer in Cameron, most men's minds just stopped functioning in her presence, making successful infiltration that much easier. Hell, even he'd fallen for it in the beginning, which still left his pride stinging a bit. _Who the fuck sells tractors? Stupid, stupid John!_

Something told him they would have had a much harder time getting Wilson on a flight. Of course it would have been hard to explain if he got a window seat and the plane tilted to one side.

Though he hadn't had a lot of time to interact with the T-800 since his arrival, John actually found himself missing the cyborg's company. He made a mental note to hook up with him during the flight and play a game of chess over Cameron's PDA.

"You're quiet." Cameron noted his silence like someone might comment on the rain.

John shrugged a bit while slipping into one of the chairs in front of their gate, "Just focused."

She considered him for a long moment, and though he tried to ignore it, her eyes seemed to leave a burning trail across his skin as it passed. It made him uncomfortable when she looked at him like that.

Obviously coming to some kind of conclusion, Cameron nodded slightly before facing forward again, her shoulder brushing up against his faintly sending a shiver straight to his groin. It also made him uncomfortable she could effect him so easily. "You're acting like him."

John covered the moment he needed to compose himself by coughing into his hand, trying for casual and coming off as slightly upset, "Who?"

"Future John." He'd known she was going to say that, so it surprised him the sting was still as potent as it was.

He couldn't help but sneer a bit, "I thought that's what everyone wanted?"

Cameron shook her head, shifting around so she was facing him again, "Not me."

"Listen." John let out a slow sigh, idly spinning his new wedding band around with his thumb, "I'm just feeling a little stupid right now, okay? I didn't want to be there, to have to deal with mom and the men, the mission, the bullshit. I was just so tired... You called me on it before we left Cameron, we were just pretending to be normal."

"But we're not." He nodded, "And I can't keep pretending that I can do it all. Be it all. I have to make choices."

Resting a hand on his shoulder, Cameron frowned, "Why aren't you going home?"

"Because John Connor can't go running back to base every time one of his soldiers is sick." It sounded weak even to John, but that didn't stop him from sticking with it. "Not when we have work to do."

"But she's your mother." Cameron pointed out bluntly.

John hadn't spent three years with Cameron without figuring out a few effective ways to derail her, his old standby would work just fine here: logic. "And if I was the man she wanted me to be, that wouldn't matter. You know she'd tell me to focus on the mission."

Cameron saw what he was doing, and though she was inclined to allow it for his emotional benefit, she wasn't going to let him entirely off the hook. "If you were that man, she would be dead."

"Yeah." John's shoulder slumped visibly as he scrubbed both hands slowly over his face, "She would be."

* * *

Flight 88 to Berlin  
Somewhere Over the Atlantic  
March 7th, 2011  
2140 hrs

Rachel looked torn between the urge to get sick and embracing a full-blown panic attack, her knuckles white, fingers clawing into the padded armrest of her seat, eyes never drifting an inch away from the torrent of rain interspersed with lightning flashes outside her window. "Is... is it supposed to be shaking like that?"

Beside her, Cole was seriously regretting letting the other woman have the window seat. She didn't bother to open her eyes or shift from her reclining position, there were some benefits to the fact Judgment Day was right around the corner - namely, money was no longer an object, so they were traveling in style. Darla was still glowing from a few after-dinner cocktails and had been just drifting off to sleep when the jumpy Corporal beside her had interrupted her, "Relax Lorne. No plane has ever been brought down by turbulence."

Another bright flash illuminated Rachel's face, causing her to cringe slightly. "What about lightning strikes?"

Darla couldn't quite contain a smirk, "Now _that_ happens all the time."

"Oh shit." If possible, Lorne paled further.

"It's not like Huey's the one flying." Cole snarked, "So we'll probably make it in one piece."

Flicking up the bill of his battered cowboy hat pointedly with his middle finger, Hendrix glowered at the back of the operative's head through the seat-back in front of him. "I heard that."

"Can't we all just play the quiet game for a few hours?" Rolling his eyes at the behavior of not only his superiors, but his elders, Private Carmack sighed from his position beside the LT. "Just sayin'... it's a long flight."

Rolling her head to the side so she could eye the Private, Cole frowned, "It's either this or listen to Lorne having a mental breakdown. Take your pick, Dooley."

"It's not a breakdown!" Rachel snapped, "We're just... really freakin' high. Are we supposed to be this high?"

Darla exhaled sharply through her nose, "You might have mentioned that you've never flown before."

"Didn't seem important at the time," Rachel mumbled distractedly.

"It was." Cole rubbed her temples, "I could have slipped some Xanax into your drink."

She seemed to consider that for a moment before smiling, "Or mine. Either way, it would have made this a lot more tolerable."

"Well," Lorne grumbled over her shoulder, "I'm sorry if my totally justifiable fear of plummeting twenty thousand feet into icy, shark-infested waters is bothering you."

"Hmmm." Carmack mused aloud, "Personally, I'd think you'd be more worried about the amount of fuel carried on a typical trans-Atlantic flight."

"One lightning strike to the wing," He grinned evilly, making an expansive gesture with both hands. "Poof."

Lorne gulped, "Poof?"

"Well," Dooley conceded, "More like a BOOM! Arghhhhh screeeeeetch SPLASH!"

"Not that you'd live long enough to hear it." Darla provided helpfully.

"Just so we're clear before we potentially explode." Lorne choked up further on the armrests, craning her head back towards the window, "I hate you all."

Having been content to stay silent until now, O'Brien chimed in from the other side of the aisle. "I've always wondered about the flotation devices."

"Flotation devices?" Rachel looked incredulous, "They crash these things into the ocean so often they have devices for it?"

Resistance soldiers had a high tolerance for crazy, evidenced by the way the scout sniper smoothly ignored Lorne's ranting and continued with her thought. "I mean, they put these things on the plane and expect no one to ever consider it."

Cole snorted, "You're making less sense than Lorne, Amanda."

"Think about it, Cole." To O'Brien, it seemed perfectly obvious, "They make the seats so they'll keep you afloat on the off chance you not only crash, but that you'll do it in water, _and_ you'll survive long enough to actually need it. They prepare for that possibility even though the chances of that set of circumstances happening at the same time is practically astronomical."

Behind her, Huey quirked a brow, "Your point?"

"That they'd go to all that trouble to keep you alive during a one and a million water landing," Amanda grinned, "And yet they still won't put parachutes on the fucking plane."

Darla chuckled, willing to concede that much to the red-headed Private. "I think if you asked most people if they'd be willing to have a one bag limit if it meant having a parachute handy, they would choose the parachute every damn time."

"We _are_ very high." Lorne confirmed quietly.

Huey looked at them all like they were insane, "Know who needs parachutes?"

"Quitters." He stated smugly.

"What the hell are you jawing about Hendrix?" Cole was practically in hysterics, "You've crashed like a dozen times. They used to say that if Huey was your first name, your last name must be 'Down'."

"Yeah," The pilot confirmed, leaning back into his seat with a cocky grin. "_Crashed_ bein' the key word darlin'. If you ain't gonna enjoy the ride till it comes to a full and complete stop, don't buy the ticket."

Rachel finally glanced away from the window long enough to glare at the others, "Will you people stop saying 'crash'!"

Carmack looked around pleadingly, "So... about quiet time?"

"God." Cole continued massaging her temples, despite the fact it didn't seem to be helping. "This is why Operators work alone."

"Oh." Lorne actually looked interested in something beyond their potential demise for a moment, turning away from the window long enough to skewer the raven-haired beauty beside her with a condescending look. "So we're admitting that now, are we?"

Darla upped the Corporal's look with a pointed glare of her own, "Yeah. Seems _someone_ saw fit to bring it to Connor's attention."

"That had to be awkward." She consoled while trying, and failing, to hide a smile. "Probably would have been less painful if you'd just told him yourself, huh?"

"I'd like to remind you that we are at twenty-five thousand feet," Cole shot her thumb towards O'Brien, "And we don't have parachutes."

Rachel seemed to consider that for a minute before smiling, "Nope. Still worth it."

For all her bluster and ability, both women knew that actually settling this wouldn't end well, which had kept them in détente for weeks. Here, without weapons, Darla could tear her to pieces. But despite the woman's bubbly personality and innocent looks, Lorne was a battle-hardened Resistance soldier.

Though not originally Tech-Com, she'd been involved in a series of campaigns in the Mid-west sector under Colonel Edgar 'The Fox' Wainwright. The Mid-western theater had always played third echelon to the fight for the coasts, way down the list for supplies and reinforcements. Wainwright's Wildcats, probably the single most successful insurgency operation in North America, managed to turn their weaknesses into strengths. They fought with improvised weapons and tactics, retreating through prepared ground and using traps and deceptions to dilute and eventually wear down the enemy through simple attrition.

Most Resistance soldiers came right at you, teeth clenched and fists swinging. Easy enough for a person with Cole's training to deal with. But Rachel would bide her time, would wait for her moment, would come at her sideways.

People like that were unknown quantities and if there was one thing an intelligence officer hated, it was a lack of operational intel. It was the unknown.

So, like all combatants faced with the prospect of mutually assured destruction, they settled for sniping at each other from the periphery and hoping that time would change circumstances enough to allow them to make a move from a position of strength.

Besides, in the short term, they'd need every good soldier they had to survive what was coming.

It was at that point that the flight attendant made her way back into the first class compartment, five hands immediately shooting up to greet her.

"Let me guess?" Shaking her head a bit, the woman forced a professional smile, "More drinks."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note: Yes, I know I'll probably get firebombed for posting this before the M-rated oneshot, but it just turned out that way. For those of you who haven't figured it out already, it will cover the gap from the pool scene in the last chapter to Cameron coming back to their room and finding John gone. As far as this story goes, we're ratcheting up to J-Day, so hold on tight folks.

Thank you as always to everyone who has taken the time to review, you really do make the effort worth it. Morded, richard, NordWest, gypsy069, TSCCandTwilightarehebest, Necro-wulf, klumsysmurf, Dragon Seraphin, xxshyangel29xx, XxDeathStarxX, Renderer, kaotic2, and Bigbew.


	22. Chapter 22

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 22/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 06/17/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 22 - 'Battle Ready'  


* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
Abandoned Tractor Factory  
March 9th, 2011  
1100 hrs

Figures drifted through the crowded markets and narrow alleyways, zigging this way and that, some stopping, some standing, some rushing off for what Amanda could only assume was important business. All of them had one thing in common though - a blissful ignorance of the .50 caliber anti-material rifle pointed at them.

Though covered in a ratty tarp that at least kept the sub-zero wind blowing in through the shattered factory windows from striking her directly, O'Brien had been lying prone atop the smooth concrete floor for more than eight hours already, every minute of contact leaching more precious body heat away from her bones. No one would ever claim that the scout sniper wasn't as capable as her male counterparts, not if they wanted to live, but even she had to admit there were advantages to being built like Derek. She hadn't felt her legs in three hours and it was growing increasingly difficult to line up her scope when she couldn't stop the chattering of her teeth.

Tilting her head up from the scope and letting the tarp spill back onto her neck, Amanda wrangled her unresponsive muscles into giving just enough to turn to Private Carmack a few feet behind her. As she'd expected, the lucky bastard was cozy warm, a blanket wrapped over his shoulders, the only exposed skin on his body a small slice between the top of his zipped-up collar and the bottom of his hat so he could actually see out his field glasses.

_Bastard even gets a chair_.

O'Brien glowered, but indignation alone wasn't going to warm her up. "D...Dool..ley."

"What?" Carmack continued to scan the buildings surrounding them, "You realize you don't have to check with me if you need to take a leak, right? In fact, I'd prefer if you _didn't_. Some things should just remain a mystery."

"Like where babies come from." The Private shivered visibly as he replayed the rather graphic memory of the first time he'd stumbled across a live birth in one of the tunnels. "So much goo..."

"C..c...coffee!" Amanda would have wrung his neck if she wasn't seventy percent sure she was frozen to the ground. "N...now!"

Letting his field glasses rest on his lap, Private Carmack finally found a good enough reason to unzip the collar of his coat - so Amanda could get a good look at his 'the fucking hell I will' face. "We've got three more hours. Tough it out."

O'Brien felt like she responded quite eloquently... given the circumstances. "No!"

"Where the hell am I even supposed to get coffee?" Dooley was bordering on incredulous, "This is fucking _Armenia_! I've seen nicer places post J-Day."

Going back to her scope was the only thing that kept Amanda from punching him. As it was, her response still slipped out through gritted teeth, "Find...a Starb..bucks."

"Yeah? And just how am I supposed to do that?" He glowered at the back of her knit-hat covered head, "You speak Armenian? Cause I sure as hell don't. I'd probably come back with a hot cup of lard."

_It would be better than nothing at this point!_

Trying to maintain her patience with her spotter was an acquired skill, unfortunately, one they had acquired while working together in the Southwestern United States, and it apparently didn't respond well to cold.

"J...just..t... me cof..ffee!" Amanda stomped the steel toe of the boot closest to the soldier into the floor a few times to punctuate her point.

Carmack glowered for a long moment before releasing a theatrical sigh, "Tell ya what, champ."

"If you can give me just _one_ good reason why I," Dooley shoved both thumbs towards his chest, "A highly trained, well-polished, slick shit killer, should be devoting my rather considerable talents to trudging aimlessly around the frozen streets of this third-world hell hole just so you can get your fucking caffeine fix, then I'll be happy to get off my toasty warm ass and do something about it."

Amanda considered his words for a few seconds before tilting her head back in the man's direction, a sly smile spreading across her blue-tinged lips.

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
Abandoned Tractor Factory  
March 9th, 2011  
1152 hrs

Busily embracing the warm glow provided by her second cup of gourmet coffee, Private O'Brien didn't hear the disturbance until Dooley started poking her in the shoulder insistently. Shoving the tarp back off her shoulders with a huff, she immediately picked up the sound of a familiar voice echoing up through the propped-open fire door leading to the interior stair well.

Though relaxing a bit once she realized who it was coming up from under them, Amanda caught herself unconsciously mirroring her spotter's look of perplexed amusement, because in all the years they'd known him both in the future and the past, none of them had ever heard General Connor _sing_.

"_Oh, the weather outside is frightful_," John took the last few steps onto the landing in stride, casting a quick glance around to locate their sniper nest before setting off in their direction at a casual saunter, "_But the fire is so delightful_."

Both Privates exchanged a skeptical look before shaking their heads in near identical fashion and turning back to the still very real scene unfolding before them.

"_And since we've no place to go_," Casting a quick glance at the laptop propped on a chunk of broken drywall supported by two trash barrels, John whistled for a few seconds before finishing his song, "_Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_."

Tabbing through the photos O'Brien had taken with her scope, Connor decided he was fighting a losing battle trying to manipulate the flat keys with his gloves on. Pausing long enough to yank them off, John finally noticed the other inhabitants of the room gawking at him like he was a poker playing pit bull.

"What?" Embarrassingly enough, the first thing John did was check his fly, but by the time he'd confirmed he was in fact at full mast his brain had caught up with the situation and provided him his answer. "Come on guys, it's fitting, don't you think?"

"Ummm..." Dooley glanced helplessly towards his partner before answering hurriedly, "If you say so, sir."

John appraised them both dubiously, "A group of highly trained terrorists about to assault a corporate stronghold?"

At their continued looks of incomprehension, his frown only grew more disbelieving, "Die Hard?"

"Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker?" Finally deciding he was only digging the hole deeper, John just shrugged. "You know I like you. But sometimes? Sometimes it's like talking to fucking Martians."

Dooley quirked a brow, "Believe it or not, sir... we can totally sympathize."

"Sweet!" Failure to communicate quickly forgotten, Connor's mood took a decided turn for the better at the sight of the cardboard drink holder on the crate beside O'Brien. "Coffee."

Snatching one of the two remaining cups up, he slipped the cardboard sleeve down the side with a quirked brow of his own, "How in the hell did you find a Starbucks over here?"

Dooley renewed his study of the tower in the distance, really hoping his CO didn't notice the purplish bruise forming just above his jawline, "I was uh... highly motivated, sir."

"Well, Private, this is the kind of initiative I like to see. I'd give you a commendation if we actually _had_ any." John considered the idea for a moment before shaking his head, "Maybe I should get a book of smiley face stickers or something."

O'Brien rolled her eyes, "A gold star, sir?"

"Now you're thinkin." Taking a long sip from his coffee, Connor finally reached the end of the cached images and snapped the laptop closed. "Okay, report."

"Really wish there was more than what you saw there," Amanda shook her head, "But as far as the target is concerned, we've got jack and shit."

John couldn't help but chuckle, "And Jack left town?"

"Sir?" Both Privates were staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, John just grumbled under his breath, "Fucking Martians..."

"We've managed to identify at least twenty-five active security personnel, two teams on twelve hour rotations." Pulling out a well-worn pocket notepad with a half pencil attached by a tattered string and scotch tape, O'Brien licked the pad of her thumb before flipping back through her notes. "At least ten more probable plain clothes bodyguards, I marked their patrol routes on the blueprints Cole gave us."

John nodded along with her explanation, "How probable are we talking about?"

"Dunno. Are Uzi's considered a traditional undergarment in Armenia?" Dooley inquired laconically.

"Only if you're a black market thug pretending to be a legitimate businessman." Snatching up the older man's field glasses, Connor focused in on the upper floors. "Any interesting foot traffic?"

O'Brien got to her feet for the first time in half a day, the popping and crackling of her protesting knees audible throughout the concrete enclosed space. Grumbling a bit under her breath while nursing her coffee, Amanda flipped the laptop back open and punched a few keys, pulling up a short video clip set to loop.

John leaned in over her shoulder, eyebrows knitting together at the sight before him. A black Mercedes swung into the semi-circular drive in front of the main doors, a single dark-haired man stepping out of the back. The image shifted and blurred for a handful of seconds while O'Brien had been jockeying for a good angle, finally focusing clearly on his face and freezing. "That's the guy who hired the mercs we ran into at Krueger. He was our connection to Sarkissian."

"Colonel Mikhail Sashenka." Dooley fired off helpfully, "Yeah, he showed up too. But that's not the interesting thing."

"This confirms our target is in the area," John shook his head, "I'd call that pretty interesting."

Tossing her now empty coffee cup to the floor, O'Brien resumed the video, pulling back into a wide angle around the entrance as the Mercedes departed. "Old boy might have been the bag man, but I get the feeling he's not as high on the totem pole as Cole thinks he is."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense." After thirty seconds of watching random traffic filter through the drive, he motioned impatiently with his hand, "I wasn't kidding, it's freezing in here."

"I've noticed." Grumbling under her breath, Amanda forwarded the video two minutes. "Alright, it's coming up."

A black Mercedes nearly identical to the first slipped into the drive, the only difference John picked up was the fact it drove all the way to the end before parking. The brake lights had barely dimmed before four suit-clad figures swung out their respective doors and set off towards the entrance at a steady clip.

"Security." John leaned towards the screen, finding himself in complete agreement with the Private's earlier assessment. Though not obviously armed, anyone whose mother had ever sewn Kevlar into his backpack could tell their suits were tailored to hide weapons, and from the bulky shape, they were packing more than standard sidearms.

"Wait for it," Dooley shook his head, "It's just gettin' to the good part."

Two of the security men broke off and flanked the building's front entrance, clearing any pedestrians unlucky enough to be there at the time away quickly and efficiently. The other two taking up positions where the drive met the street, waving off any cars attempting to enter. It all took less than a minute, John catching one of the door guards tilting his head to the side, most likely relaying the area had been secured.

It was about that time the reason for O'Brien's theory became abundantly clear, a small convoy of vehicles careening into the drive with a practiced ease that gave John his first clear picture of exactly what they were up against. Two Humvees front, one behind, an obviously armored stretch limo nestled safely in between.

The men storming out of the Humvees were decidedly less subtle than the other security personnel, sub-machine guns and body armor, fanning out around the vehicles like they were expecting a horde of armed insurgents to come raining over the hills any second. He let out a low whistle, "Gee, think they're expecting us?"

"Safe bet, sir." Carmack could only shrug. "Then again, this is Eastern Europe. These guys at war? Anybody bother to watch CNN before we left?"

John was in the process of ignoring the Private's rant when he caught sight of something far more interesting than the security detail, "Freeze that!"

"Got it." Amanda punched the space bar, locking the image of an older man in a designer suit helping a young woman out of the back of the limo. "Hmmm, she's kind of pretty... if frigged ice queens are your thing."

Unfortunately, John hadn't had a chance to see Cole's intel on Sarkissian yet, which left him squarely in the dark. "That his wife?"

"No, sir." Alt-tabbing back to the desktop, O'Brien pulled up the limited fact-sheet they'd managed to acquire about the man. "Wife died six years ago."

John nodded along, "Way too public to be his mistress."

"Besides," Carmack agreed, "No one surrounds their midlife crisis with that much firepower. But, Sarkissian _does_ have a daughter, twenty-four, named Arte."

"Good work guys." He tossed his chin towards the laptop, "Get stills of the woman and the guy who was in the limo with her to Cole, ASAP."

"Will do, sir." Despite her opinions about his personal life, O'Brien couldn't help but blush a little when _the_ John Connor actually gave her a pat on the back.

"Double check those patrol routes." Pulling his gloves back on and zipping his collar back into place, John mentally prepared for what he knew was waiting for him outside. As cold as the warehouse might be, it at least offered a bit of a windbreak. "RTB when you're finished, I'll make sure we've got hot food waiting."

Returning her CO's two-fingered salute, Amanda set the video clip to zip, leaning back towards her spotter while the status bar creeped along. "That was... odd."

"I know, right?" Dooley shook his head in the direction of the door John had just left through, "Since when does Connor sing?"

"I was more surprised he didn't suck at it." The two shared a quick laugh before O'Brien continued her work.

* * *

Yerevan, Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 9th, 2011  
1206 hrs

Cameron stepped out of the elevator at the floor John had assured her contained their room, what he hadn't explained, was that the entire floor _was_ their room.

The doors opened directly into a large central living space, low-slung couches surrounding a state of the art entertainment system. Off to one side was what appeared to be a fully stocked kitchen, complete with wet bar, seven rooms located around the periphery of the space, only two of which seemed to be restrooms.

"Dammit." Lieutenant Hendrix's voice snapped the cyborg back from her examination of the surroundings just in time to catch him lowering the assault rifle he had leveled on the elevator. "I was _really_ hopin' that was our pizza."

Cameron quirked a brow, "Sorry to disappoint you."

Catching sight of Corporal Cole seated at the large oak dinner table, she motioned to the room. "I see you spared no expense."

Darla rolled her eyes pointedly, though she remained totally fixated on her work. A few bathroom towels had been spread out across the surface of the table, various sections of metallic pipe and a hacksaw off to one side, the other piled high with homemade plastique. "Connor said he was posing as an internet mogul, a rat's nest in the ghetto would have seemed a little out of place."

Not failing to detect the barely restrained hostility in the woman's voice, Cameron decided to clarify, "I was simply making an observation."

"Then make 'em somewhere else." The Resistance fighter shook her head, carefully threading two segments together. "I'm busy."

"Cameron!" Corporal Lorne practically bounded out of one of the back rooms, hair still damp from the shower and clad in a bright pink tank top and a pair of plaid pajama pants. "Where's John?"

Unable to entirely contain a smile at the young woman's enthusiasm, Cameron shook her head. "Checking in with the forward observation team."

"Hmmm." Rachel's nose scrunched up a bit, "I thought you guys always went places together?"

Cameron frowned, "So did I."

Not about to let whatever was going on between her friend and the General dampen her spirits, Lorne slipped the bag off Cameron's shoulder with a genial smile, nearly toppling over when the full weight caught up with her, the duffel dropping straight to the floor with a clatter.

"Whoa!" Brushing her hands off on her pants, she kicked the sack over onto it's side next to the elevator. "Well, I suppose that's as good a spot as any."

"I could..."

"Nope!" Rachel cut the cyborg off before she could offer to put the things away, ushering her over to one of the nearby couches. "I want details. Spill!"

It was Cameron's turn to scrunch up her nose, glancing pointedly from her leather jacket, to her pants, then finally down to her boots. "The amount of snow I've tracked in seems to be negligible."

"I meant about your trip." The young soldier shook her head, "Though you do have a little snow on your nose."

"I am aware." Cameron practically went cross-eyed glaring at the still unmelted hunk of snow which had found it's way there when a large chunk connected to the corner of the building had dislodged on top of her head.

Rachel waited a ten count before finally pointing out the obvious, "Aren't you going to brush it off?"

"No." Cameron glowered, as if the answer should be obvious. "Then it wins."

"I see." Tossing herself backwards onto the plush cushions of the couch and pulling her legs underneath her Indian style, Lorne nodded sagely upon remembering John's advice a few weeks before, 'when in doubt, agree with her'. "And we wouldn't want that."

The irritation immediately left the cyborg's features, replaced by a grateful smile that her friend seemed to understand. "Is the kitchen stocked? I should prepare John's meal."

"John's a big boy, Cameron, he can fix his own dinner."

Cameron eyed the other woman like she'd just told her 2+2 equaled cake, "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Keep me from killing Cole for a few minutes!" It was Lorne's turn to glower, "You're allowed to have a life you know."

Considering the soldier's words for a second, Cameron finally figured out the failure in communication. "Taking care of John is my..."

"Stop!" Rachel tossed both hands in the air, palms outward pleadingly. "If you finish that sentence I'll be launched into a feminist rage the likes of which you've never seen."

The cyborg quirked a brow, "Really?"

"Mhmm." The Corporal released a slow breath through her nose, "Can't be held responsible for my actions, it's like a state of temporary insanity."

Cameron smiled shyly, "And we wouldn't want that."

Lorne's laughter was interrupted by a growl from the dinner table, "Yeah, monkey see monkey do, very entertaining."

Darla paused in her work just long enough to glare, "Does _anyone_ care that I'm assembling high explosives over here?"

"Nope." Rachel's saccharine smile got exactly the reaction she was hoping for from ther operator, "Doesn't bother us at all, feel free to carry on."

Before Cole had an opportunity to respond, Rachel pivoted back to Cameron with a bright smile. "So? Where did you go? What did you guys do? Was it romantic? John seems like he'd be the romantic type. Oh, I-bet-it-was-romantic!"

The cyborg couldn't help but look on in utter fascination while the young woman wound herself up into a near epileptic fit, Cameron's head slowly tilting farther and farther to the side, brown eyes widening as the words began to come so fast they actually started to bleed into each other. "We went on vacation. It was... enjoyable."

Apparently this answer was entirely insufficient for the Corporal, "That's it? You went on vacation and had a good time?"

"That is an adequate description of the events as they happened." Cameron shook her head, "Did I misunderstand the question?"

"No." Lorne conceded with a frown, "I was just hoping for more detail."

Cameron looked genuinely confused, preparing to explain to the Corporal that John had assured her weddings were private affairs between those involved, but was derailed by unholy screeching sound emanating from the woman's vocal cords.

"Oh. My. God!" Under other circumstances it would have been comical to watch a hyper twenty-two year old human rip the glove off a cybernetic killing machine while screeching like a three year old at the zoo. But the humor of the scene was far outweighed by the reason for Lorne's exclamation, "I thought I saw a ring!"

Cameron glanced down at her left hand as if remembering the ring was there for the first time, nodding once in confirmation. "John assured me it was the customary finger."

"It is!" Rachel was beaming, yanking the hand in front of her face and eying the band with a wistful smile. "Cameron! Don't you realize what this is?"

"Yes." The cyborg assured her, "It's a..."

Darla finally broke her stupefied silence long enough to fire off a reflexive jibe, "Oh goody. A cyborg wedding? I can't wait."

"Don't you ruin this Darla!" Lorne tossed a warning glare at the other woman, "Don't forget this means she's engaged to _Connor_."

"Actually, it means..."

Cameron was derailed from explaining once again by the Corporal's disdainful remarks, "I know _exactly_ what this means."

"Like I said," Shoving back from the table hard enough to cause everyone in the room to reflexively cringe as the explosives jumped, Cole's look personified disgust, "I can't wait. Should be a blast! Watch the bride and groom sharing cake and sipping motor oil."

"Cole..." Lorne rose slowly from her position on the couch.

"Probably have one of those annoying ass robot dogs yipping up the isle with a ring on it's back!" She shook her head, "People can huck batteries at the happy couple!"

"Scraggly bitch!" Despite more than a year outside of combat, Rachel's reflexes were surprisingly quick. It was fortunate Cameron's were quicker.

Easily hauling the hundred and ten pound Corporal out of harm's reach by the scruff of her shirt and depositing her back on the couch. "That won't be necessary."

"What? Ohhhh..." Sensing her opportunity, Darla literally licked her lips in anticipation, hands curling into fists at her side. Even with her arm still wrapped from wrist to elbow in plaster, she was an imposing figure. "Are _you_ gonna do something about it, Cameron?"

In what could only be described as the longest ten seconds of Rachel's life, Cameron seemed to be considering the suggestion, before the oddest thing happened.

The placid and somewhat mechanical look the cyborg tended to sport around anyone but John was replaced in the space of a second by serene and somewhat shit-eating grin that neither of the humans had ever seen on her before. Had he been there, John would have called it her 'my dad sells tractors' face. Allowing her infiltration subroutines to take over completely for maximum emotional effect.

"Like I said, Corporal Cole." Reclining onto the couch beside her friend, Cameron tossed both arms onto the back in an exaggerated show of relaxation. "That won't be necessary."

The woman snorted, "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because your anger is based on a mistaken impression." Cameron's smile was sickly sweet, "The impression that this is an engagement ring."

Beside her, Lorne looked a little crestfallen. "It isn't?"

"Hah!" If she hadn't been standing next to enough explosives to put a dent in the moon, Darla would have danced a jig. "Could have told you myself that Connor would never..."

"No." Ignoring the other woman's tirade, Cameron turned to her friend, a conspiratory and surprisingly girly grin distorting her features while she leaned close and whispered, "Its a wedding ring."

If she thought the earlier screech was deafening, Cameron was forced to rethink her assessment. "You bitch! You eloped!"

Despite her words, Rachel lept forward and pulled the cyborg into a hug, the usually reticent Cameron returning it wholeheartedly. Well, wholeheartedly enough to avoid internal organ damage. "Blame John, it was his idea."

For her part, Darla was back to mute gaping.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 9th, 2011  
1632 hrs

"Okay..." Derek frowned as he twisted the tiny plastic and rubber microphone on top of the screen, "Is this thing on? John? Can you hear me?"

There were a few seconds of muffled laughter, followed by John clearing his throat pointedly on the other end. "Yeah, Derek, but I'm looking at your chin."

Five thousand miles away, the younger man shook his head, "You don't have to talk _directly_ into the microphone."

"Oh? Oh." Slouching back in his chair, Reese was delighted to see his nephew's face peering back from the laptop screen. "Hey, I see you! This is straight out of Star Trek man."

John just didn't have the heart to explain that teleconferencing had been around since the 80's. "There are some perks to pushing J-Day back eight years."

"For you maybe." Derek snorted, "You get to play 007, but I'm pretty sure my gun will be the same."

Punching a few keys on his end, John's eyes began darting back and forth as he obviously scanned something. "Any problems?"

"Yeah, John." Part of the younger Connor wished he'd settled for a phone call, at least he wouldn't have had to endure Derek's 'duh' look. "I'm kicked back on the couch enjoying a beer because I can't handle something as simple as..."

"Good." John cut him off, "Have you heard back yet?"

For his part, Derek was reminiscing about the days when his nephew didn't interrupt him constantly. Not that they'd existed, but that didn't stop him from remembering them in fond, sepia tones. "It suddenly occurs to me that if you could set up this network from half-way across the world, you could have fired off that E-mail for yourself."

Finally glancing up from whatever he was reading in the corner of the screen, John smirked, "That's just _now_ occurring to you?"

"I didn't say it was insightful." The Resistance fighter shrugged.

"The fewer direct links between Weaver and myself the better," John explained. "Everything running out of the compound is secure, but I'm running on public wifi... in Armenia."

"Good point." The older man may have been forced to concede the point, but he wasn't quite done venting yet. "She says 'hi'."

John rolled his eyes, "Somehow I doubt that."

"You're right, but that's what you get for making me talk to liquid metal." Pulling out the small scrap of paper he'd scribbled the message on, Derek's frown grew, "Not that it made any sense. 'You'll have hot and cold from ten to twelve local. Don't forget to lock the door on your way out. You're welcome. Weaver'. She's a softie, that one."

Tossing the scrap back onto the coffee table, Reese sipped his beer. "There a problem with the water heater?"

Pausing to enter the info into his laptop, John decided to break guy protocol and discuss the elephant in the room. "How's mom?"

The look on Derek's face told John more than the man's words ever can, the closest thing to true disappointment he'd seen in his eyes in years while he shifted his jaw back and forth uncomfortably. "Why don't you come home and find out for yourself?"

"You know I can't." He didn't even bat an eye, and under other circumstances, Derek might have been proud. "This is too important."

"It only is because you say it is John." The older man shook his head resignedly, "It wasn't important enough to stop you from running off with the cyborg."

"That's none of your business, Reese." All at once, it was like a blast shield had dropped over John's features, glaring blankly at some spot over Derek's shoulder. "Just make sure she's ready to move when we're finished here. That's your top priority."

John sat there for a long moment, leaving Derek to wonder if he was finally going to let some of the worry he had to be feeling over Sarah slip out into the open. Instead, he just cleared his throat, tossing a curt nod towards the camera. "Connor out."

He severed the connection without waiting for a response, leaving his uncle gaping at the screen with a frown. "I missed a lot of things about the General."

"That...not so much."

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 9th, 2011  
2259 hrs

The knock on the door frame brought John out of his light nap with a start, nearly tossing the laptop resting across his thighs onto the floor. Shoving his shoulder a few inches further up the headboard and snapping on the bedside lamp, blurry eyes tried to make sense of the scene surrounding them.

After a brief moment of confusion his mind hard-booted enough to remind him where he was and what he was doing, though the exact details were still pretty fuzzy while he swiped a bit of drool off his chin and tried to smooth out the wrinkles on his t-shirt.

"Yeah?" Realizing whoever it was on the other side of that door probably couldn't hear the half-gurgle his throat had just produced, he took a few gulps from his now tepid coffee before trusting his voice again. "Come in!"

"You did say twenty-three hundred, right?" Darla slipped into the room hefting a large duffel over her left shoulder, pointedly eying her watch. "I can come back if you're..."

John shook his head, massaging the kinks out of the base of his neck. "No, I'm good. Just some jet lag."

"Running around out in that cold probably didn't help things." The operator's chiding look only lasted long enough for her to swing the duffel onto the end of the bed. "I come bearing gifts."

Setting his laptop off to the side, Connor practically rubbed his hands together in glee. "Considering the digs I'm seriously optimistic about the gear you've managed to scrounge."

"Keep in mind that I only had two days to work with." Cole unclasped the neck of the bag, "So some of it is a little... used."

"Uh huh." John's jaw did that odd side-to-side grinding thing he was so fond of, "Odds of it blowing up and killing me?"

Darla brightened considerably, "Minimal."

John snorted, "Then bring it on."

"Wow. Not lethal to the user?" Cole could only shake her head at that, "You really set the bar high."

"We're buying weapons in Armenia, Darla." It was John's turn to shake his head, "I'm a realist. Do I even want to know how you got your hands on this shit?"

"That part was actually pretty easy." The operator brushed a lock of raven hair back behind her ear, obviously enjoying the opportunity to showcase her skills. "Like you said, Johnny, it's Armenia. I could have picked up a crate of AK's two streets over for two thousand American. But, seeing as how this is our first time working together, I wanted to..."

"You wanted to show off." John rolled his eyes.

"I would have said 'impress upon you the breadth of my abilities'," Darla's indignant look was one for the books. "Anyone can buy a gun John, but what I bring to the equation is _style_."

Her grin was wicked, "And you can't put a price on style."

"You do realize I was sleeping, right?" He was being patient, but he hadn't been lying about the jet lag. "Just promise me you didn't raid an armory or something."

"No, sir." It was actually pretty impressive to John the way she was able to slip from Darla to Operator at the drop of a hat, reminded him a bit of his mother. "The intel you gave me on Sarkissian indicated he was an organized crime kingpin. A man like that has enemies, sir."

"Rival arms dealers." John smiled, "Nice."

"Once I let on about the nature of our target," That wicked grin had returned, "They actually gave us a discount."

"Cole." He didn't know it, but Darla was pretty impressed with the way John slipped into Connor mode at the drop of a hat as well, "You told them who we were gunning for?"

"Yeah." She shook her head, "John, they didn't know me. The only way they were going to deal is if it was in their interest to take the risk."

"Besides," Darla shrugged all too innocently for John's tastes, "I _might_ have left them with the impression that we were an unofficial CIA hit squad and if he opened his mouth a Tomahawk missile would be responsible for a 'gas explosion' on his apartment block."

It was one of those moments that seemed to be happening more and more frequently to John these days. The kind of moment where you just have to look around, take a deep breath, and say, '_this_... is my life.'

He hated those moments.

"We're both going to hell." Despite himself, John couldn't help but chuckle at the circumstances, "You realize that, right?"

"We'll keep each other company, Johnny." Dipping her hand down into the duffel, Darla hefted out a sleek black assault rifle. "G36A2 with modified reflex sights for all of your long range killing needs."

John nodded along in approval, "Shiny."

"I thought you'd like that." Setting the rifle aside, Darla withdrew a wooden box and set it on John's lap. "This one falls into the 'used' category, but I thought you'd appreciate the additional stopping power."

Flipping open the lid like a kid on Christmas, the look on her superior's face told her she'd guessed correctly. "Colt m1911. Where in the hell did you find one of these with a sighting laser?"

"A lady never tells." Setting the bag down beside the bed, Cole shrugged, "A few odds and ends for your little bodyguard. Mossburg 500C, an M9, and I've got that spare M107 you insisted on in the spare room. You're not expecting more APCs are you?"

"After last time," John set the box aside with a sheepish smile, "I'm preparing for war elephants on the off chance Sarkissian pulls them out of his ass."

"If it makes you feel any better sir, I don't think they could fit them in the building." Both seemed a little awkward now that business had been concluded, Darla finally breaking the silence. "Is there anything else?"

"Ummm... no." John snapped his fingers, "Wait, yes. Did you get that info I requested about Sarkissian's daughter?"

"Yes, sir." Darla looked a little embarrassed for him, "I uh... sent it to your laptop an hour ago."

"Sorry, I uhh..."

She swept in before he could flounder any further, "She seems clean, sir. Runs a private charity, something to do with kids. I tried to read their webpage but Google translator can only give you so much."

John mulled her words over for a long moment before nodding once, "Okay. Make an appointment for us to meet with her as soon as possible, tell her you're my assistant and that we're looking for charities to donate to for tax purposes or something."

Darla looked dubious, "May I ask why, sir?"

For once the ball was in John's court, and he couldn't deny that a part of him relished the opportunity to show off a bit himself. "Her dad is a scum-bag, which means one of two things. Either she's somehow in on it and her little charity is some way to hide or launder their money, or she really is as sheltered as she appears to be and has no idea what's going on."

"How does that help us?"

"If she knows what's going on," She didn't miss the way John couldn't meet her eyes, "She's a weak link we can exploit for information and leverage."

Cole caught herself looking at the young man in a different light, suddenly seeming much closer to the future General than even she'd given him credit for. Part of her worried at the sudden change, the other, larger part, welcomed the familiarity of the man she'd known with open arms. "And if she's not?"

"Then is means Sarkissian cares enough about his daughter to shield her from his crimes." Pulling the laptop off the bedside table and setting it across his thighs, John clearly signaled the end of the meeting. "Which brings us right back to leverage."

"Understood, sir." Stepping back from the bed, Darla had to fight the urge to salute, "I'll set up the meeting first thing in the morning."

"Then get some sleep, Darla." For just a second, John's smile returned, "Before you end up looking like me."

Tossing a wave back over her shoulder, Cole slinked out as silently as she'd come. "Will do, Johnny."

Reactivating his screen, John wasn't the least surprised to find the files the woman had mentioned exactly where she'd said they would be. A few minutes of examination told him Darla's report had been concise and accurate, the girl's record so pristine he could have eaten off it. The best schools, the best opportunities, Arte Sarkissian had never wanted for anything.

It left John wondering how Margos had ended up some half-assed mafia don in California, but it wasn't exactly his place to judge.

Hearing the door open, he glanced up from the files in time to see Cameron kicking her boots off. "How was patrol?"

"Uneventful." Cameron frowned. She had intended to survey all approaches, but with the private elevator being the only access to the suite, had resorted to sipping coffee in the lobby's cafe while staring at the elevator doors for three hours.

John nodded absently, settling back into his work.

Quirking a brow at his unusually distant behavior, Cameron attributed it to his obvious lack of sleep, endeavoring to remedy that as soon as she had an opportunity for her basic hygiene routine, which had been neglected since their arrival. Though her bodily functions meant she could go weeks without becoming offensive to human senses, her own standards were far more exacting.

Having already deposited her toiletries and clothing when they arrived, she retrieved a dark blue tank top and a pair of navy boy shorts she knew John was particularly fond of before retreating to the bathroom.

John caught himself eying the open bathroom door with an odd look on his face. For the first time contemplating the fact that was his _wife_ in the other room. Flexing his left hand, he smirked a bit, _sure feels real enough_.

The strangest part for him was how normal it all felt. Going about their routines like nothing had changed, when in just a few months, everything had changed. Somehow, it just didn't seem right. Like he was faking it. Going through the motions.

He'd spent so much of his life pretending to be normal he honestly didn't know if he could recognize the difference anymore. That thought alone scared the hell out of him.

By the time Cameron rejoined him in the bedroom he had managed to shove aside his doubts, his fears, his nagging insecurities. He buried himself in his work, the purpose he found there. The clarity.

He was vaguely aware of Cameron settling in at the foot of the bed, the strokes of her brush like a metronome reminding him just how tired he was.

"The men were talking." Cameron broke the silence, glancing back over her shoulder, "They were confused by some of your recent behavior."

John didn't bother glancing up from his laptop as he shrugged, "Believe it or not Cameron, I'm completely aware of not only how I've been behaving, but that the men have picked up on it."

"If you're aware of it...," Cameron paused mid-sentence, eyebrows scrunching as the brush gliding through her tresses finally came to a halt, "I don't understand."

"Every minute they're gossiping," He tossed a thumb in the direction of the door leading to the rest of the suite, "Every minute they're wondering just what in the hell is up with me. Well, that's a minute they're not focused on the fact the most traumatic moment of their lives is about to repeat itself."

"Misdirection." The corner of the cyborg's mouth twitched up as she set her brush on the bedside table, realization finally dawning. "To keep them from thinking about Judgment Day."

Then the frown returned just as quickly, "If it's not them, why are you unhappy?"

Cameron had logically assumed John's distance was the direct result of the soldiers' increased scrutiny, but this new information, coupled with his comparatively positive attitude when in the company of anyone else, left very few possibilities. One stood out above all the others though: her. She could be causing his distress.

John seemed to consider her question for a long moment, eyes becoming unfocused and cloudy for just a second before he snapped out of it with a visible start, trying to cover the motion by closing his laptop. "It's been a long week, Cam."

She waited patiently while he set the computer aside and pulled off his t-shirt, finding a certain comfort in the fact their routine remained untouched despite the circumstances. Once he had switched off the bedside lamp and found a comfortable position, Cameron slipped between the sheets beside him, instantly settling into her customary nook between his left arm and his chest, head resting above his heart. Unlike other nights though, she didn't feel his fingers drifting soothingly through her hair, John just continued to stare up at the ceiling, his heart palpitating at odd intervals.

"You can talk to me." Cameron assured him quietly, fingers tracing idle patterns through the short hairs dusting his chest. She couldn't help but admire the way the moonlight filtering in through the window glittered along the silvery surface of her wedding band.

It was still alien to her the way an inanimate object could effect the course of her moods so profoundly. She had formed attachments of varying degrees over the years, primarily to articles of clothing she found to be sufficiently tight. Though they had provided her with a sense of familiarity and even a pleasure of sorts, none had ever meant so much to her. It was a physical representation of John's love, and considering the fact she was incapable of producing offspring, it was probably the only one she would ever have.

Though having accepted long ago that John would never cease to surprise him with his unpredictable emotional reactions, even Cameron couldn't have anticipated the sharp, bitter laugh coming from the man beneath her. "I wish it worked that way."

"It can." She was trying. Couldn't he see she was trying? John had always been there for her when emotional responses threatened to overwhelm everything the cyborg thought she understood. The least she could do was reciprocate, if not as Cameron, surely this fell under her responsibilities as his wife?

Then, out of nowhere, it finally occurred to her. A thought that caused her more pain than she thought possible. "Do you think I won't understand? That I can't understand, because of what I..."

"No Cameron." The bitterness was gone, replaced by a resigned sadness she recognized all too well.

She'd just never heard it from _her_ John.

She felt an odd sense of desperation in that moment, everything within herself telling her that John was slipping away before her eyes. That now, more than ever, she needed to assure him that she would always be there for him. That she would always love him. That he didn't have to be alone.

Shifting her weight onto her side, Cameron let her hand glide upwards from his chest, trailing feather soft kisses in it's wake, eyes locked securely on his face, anticipating the quick intake of breath and the shuddering of her John's body in response to her touch. She smiled in a way she hoped would be reassuring, "I can fix you."

Before she'd made it more than a few inches, she felt John's hand close around her wrist gently but insistently. It was then that she noticed it for the first time... his hand was shaking. "Not tonight."

She didn't have an opportunity to dispute his words, or to question why John had suddenly lost interest in her, he'd rolled away from her, checking the alarm clock on the table beside the bed one last time before closing his eyes.

It took John two hours, fifteen minutes, and eleven seconds to actually fall asleep, during which time Cameron came up with more than sixty-two different possible meanings behind his words.

None of them were good.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's note: As always, thank you to my beta Bigbew for putting up with me. And thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, please continue to let me know what you think, your feedback is always appreciated.

Thanks to morded, bigbew, kaotic2, necro-wulf, XxDeathStarxX, Panzerfaust 150 (coolest name ever by the way), dragon seraphim, tarja.

And a special thanks to newcomer and Olympic-level reviewer Smierc


	23. Chapter 23

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 23/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 07/06/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Intro monologue is in John's voice.

_**So. You want to know what its like?**_

_**Can you imagine being the conductor of a train full of people, all convinced you alone can guide them to safety?**_

_**Can you imagine them believing without a doubt that you are in complete control?**_

_**Now can you imagine being the only one who realizes that while the conductor controls the speed, it's the track that controls the direction?**_

_**Then maybe you can imagine what it's like to be John Connor.**_

_**

* * *

**_Yerevan Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 10th, 2011  
0641 hrs

John Connor didn't dream often, or if he did dream every night, which most of his biology classes assured him was the case, he simply didn't remember them.

It was one of the few upsides to living a life of constant danger and exertion - the sleep of the dead. Too exhausted in both mind and body to do anything but rest, closer to Cameron's deactivation than the pleasant diversions most people associated with sleep.

When the dreams did come, they tended to follow a pattern. Shattered wastelands salted with the bleached bones of human beings, armies of gleaming skeletons swarming like locusts over the parched earth, a sea of unblinking crimson eyes, all focused on one thing: him. A living, breathing tide come to wash away humanity. To wash over him.

Over the last week however, it had taken a backseat to a new nightmare.

John wasn't an idiot and he wasn't a child. Intellectually, he understood it was just his subconscious beating the hell out of him for burying everything the way he had, from pushing aside his fears when they became to inconvenient. But that has always been the biggest problem with the subconscious mind, it doesn't give two shits about intellect or logic.

Understanding a thing doesn't make it any less painful. Any less frightening.

_"John," There was an uncharacteristic shake in Sarah's voice as she turned to him, "What is she talking about? It was the... the new drugs were..."_

_"They weren't working. Nothing was." Absolutely unwilling to regret that decision, John kept his eyes locked on Weaver's as he spoke. "She cured you."_

_Shaking her head in disbelief, Sarah backed away from the table. "You mean... she gave you a cure for my cancer?"_

_"No, Ms. Connor, he means I cured you." Catherine's smirk was infuriating, her control of the situation now established to her satisfaction._

_A ten year old boy, reunited with a mother he felt he hardly knew on a winding road in Southern California. The kind of woman who could turn an affectionate hug into a full-body pat-down._

_"I said I was okay!" _

_"John." He'd been foolish to expect gratitude, but that didn't make his mother's reaction any easier for a ten year old to understand, "It was stupid of you to go there!"_

_"God dammit, you have to be smarter than that!" Sarah looked like she was ready to throttle him, "You could have gotten yourself killed!"_

_"What were you thinking?" There it was, the disappointed and slightly frantic look that had come to define his mother. "You can not risk yourself, even for me. Do you understand?"_

_Then the words he'd come to resent nearly every day of his life, "You are too important. Do you understand?"_

_But as always, it was Sarah who didn't understand. She never had, and if the next nine years were any indication, she never would. "But... I had to get you out of that place. I'm sorry."_

_"I didn't need your help." She never did. "I can take care of myself."_

_Nineteen, standing in the basement of Striker Logistics, but still feeling like that ten year old boy under his mother's harsh glare._

_"Jesus Christ, John!" Sarah glared squarely at the back of his head, "When were you planning on telling me?"_

_"Tell the woman who would rather die than accept help from the machines?" John released a slow breath, glaring daggers of his own at the liquid metal terminator. "Probably never."_

_"You're God-dammed right I would have rather died! You can't make this kind of decision for someone else!"_

_"I have." He insisted vehemently, "I did. And I'd do it again."_

_Ten years old, in a filthy parking lot. "Jesus! You were gonna kill that guy!"_

_"Of course." To Uncle Bob, it had been clear. "I am a terminator."_

_"Listen to me very carefully, okay?" Back then, it had even been clear for him. "You're not a terminator anymore. You can't just go around killing people."_

_"Why?"_

_"What do you mean why? Cause you can't!"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because you just can't, okay?" He stared at the T-800 in disbelief, "Trust me on this."_

_He was standing among the wreckage of the attack on Krueger Industrial, surrounded by burning vehicles and the bodies of the dead. His face was burned and disfigured, the stitches holding together his wounded arm had torn during his fight with the Triple-8, and his right leg refused to support his weight. But despite it all, he felt nothing. A distant part wondered if he'd finally run out of emotion, good or bad, all together._

_These were the men who had tried to kill his mother, his uncle. The mercenaries deserved what they'd gotten. What they'd brought on themselves. In a way, the Company employees were even worse, willing accomplices to Skynet. To the holocaust it would bring._

_They were the enemy, now they were gone, and the world was _finally_ clear to him again._

_Staring across the table at an amused Catherine Weaver, the weight of Sarah's glare on his back a physical thing_

_"How could you..."_

_"Because someone had to!" Bringing his fist crashing down onto the table, John returned to his feet so quickly the chair behind him was toppled in the process. "Someone had to make the decision you were too fucking scared to! You forced me to do this!"_

_"Scared?" Shoving her weapon aside Sarah got right into his face, not in the least daunted by the not insignificant height difference between them. "Who was scared, John? Me, or the little boy so terrified of having to live without his mommy he was willing to make a deal with the devil himself?"_

_"You quit!" John growled, "You gave up! You surrendered!"_

_"So you decided to fight for me?" Sarah mocked. "John the Hero to the rescue again?"_

_"No." Shaking his head, Sarah for the first time caught a glimpse of the resolve that would topple Skynet. "John the Bad Guy. John, the guy who has to make the tough decisions. The man you trained me to be."_

_But even then, that same voice crying out in the back of his mind, "I had to get you out of that place. I'm sorry"_

_He would never leave her behind, and she would never understand._

_Then he was in his bed, clutching onto Cameron like he thought she would flee at any moment, tears he'd held in for years streaming down the sides of his still unmarred face. No judgment. No derision. No speeches about strength and leadership._

_She'd stroked his back, held him just as tightly, until the pain had past. His mother had protected him for most of his life, but that was the first time John could ever remember feeling safe. _

_Cameron would never leave him behind, and she would always understand._

_But there was Derek, standing at the edge of his vision, shaking his head sadly. "This is how it starts."_

_"You need us. Humans." Darla looked on, sickened at the sight of her General wrapped around the machine. "And we need you. We fight for you Johnny. We die for you. We love you."_

_"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"_

_Cameron pulled his gaze back to hers with a frown, "Why aren't you going home?"_

_"Because John Connor can't go running back to base every time one of his soldiers is sick." It sounded weak even to John, but that didn't stop him from sticking with it. "Not when we have work to do."_

_"But she's your mother." Cameron pointed out bluntly._

_"And if I was the man she wanted me to be, that wouldn't matter. You know she'd tell me to focus on the mission."_

_"If you were that man, she would be dead."_

_"Yeah." John was surprised to hear his own voice crack, "She would be."_

_"You're acting like him."_

_"Who?"_

_"Future John." John could feel his heart break at the look she gave him when speaking the words. Like he was punishing her._

_He couldn't help but sneer a bit, "I thought that's what everyone wanted?"_

_"Not me." But the voice was his mother's. "I could never love a son like that. You've lost your humanity."_

_"I tried to fix you." Cameron agreed, pulling away from him. "But you are not my John."_

_Darla shook her head, "You're a monster, Johnny. No one can love a monster."_

_Derek nodded sadly, stepping forward and raising his sidearm with a pitying frown. "And this is how it ends."_

_Despite his terror, despite seeing it coming, John never managed to wake up before the shot._

_

* * *

_Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 10th, 2011  
0703 hrs

Savannah bounded down the stairs, ignoring Derek's repeated warnings about indoor speed vs. outdoor speed and taking them two at a time in her haste to begin the day. Sergeant Reed had promised to take her fishing down at the pond in the southern corner of the property, something she'd never had the opportunity to try before and she was eager to get started.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen at a steady jog, she came grinding to a halt at the smell filling the area, nose crinkling in protest. "Eeeewww."

Wilson turned away from his customary position at the window to regard the young human with a neutral expression, "Good morning, Savannah."

"Mornin' Wilson." Waving a hand in front of her nose repeatedly, the ten year old pulled herself up onto one of the stools along the counter. "What's with the smell?"

The cyborg motioned to the oven, "I'm baking."

Now that was a response Savannah had not been anticipating. "You're cooking? I thought you didn't eat."

"This is not for consumption." Wilson noted dryly, "I am baking the moisture out of an iron oxide solution."

Despite years of dealing with cyborgs and being far more intelligent than most children her age, even Savannah had some limits. "Iron... whata?"

Wilson considered the problem for a moment, a series of synonyms scrolling across his HUD. "Iron oxide, also known as rust. The bonding of an additional oxygen atom to the mole..."

"Oh, rust!" Pulling a bowl from the cupboard with a smile, the girl shrugged, "Why didn't you just say so?"

The cyborg was clearly confused, "I just did."

"Okay." Ignoring the lapse in inter-species communication, Savannah snagged the box of Cheerios from the counter and filled her bowl. "Why in the world would you be cooking rust?"

"Baking." Wilson corrected automatically, earning him a smile from his human companion. "Specialist Austin and Lieutenant Reese's research has reached an impasse, I am attempting to assist in their development of an intermediate thermite munition."

"Yeah," Savannah agreed with a smirk, busily adding way too much sugar to her cereal, "Uncle Derek is nice and all, but he doesn't strike me as the Bill Nye type."

Wilson's head quirked to the side involuntarily, "Explain."

"What?" It took the girl a moment to realize what he was referring to. She hadn't had this kind of short-hand with John Henry, Wilson had explained it was because he was a 'less sophisticated model', but Savannah didn't hold that against him. "Oh! Bill Nye, you know? The Science Guy! He's super smart."

"I'll look into his research." The cyborg agreed almost enthusiastically, "It may prove valuable to the Resistance."

Stopping by the fridge to top her bowl off with milk, Savannah grabbed a spoon and finally found her way back to her original stool, digging into her breakfast with enthusiasm. She paused mid-bite to turn back to the terminator, "So, baking rust?"

Wilson considered the concept of explaining the mechanics of weapon construction to his young friend for a moment. His long association with General Connor assured him he had affected the escape of his mother from a mental institution at roughly the same age, already having been in possession of rudimentary combat and survival training. Savannah clearly had a long way to go before catching up.

He was fond of the girl's presence and wished to increase the chances of her continued existence post Judgment Day, it seemed only logical that with no other priorities to take precedence, he should take her under his wing. Coming to a decision, he seated himself across the bar from Savannah, both of them conscious of the wooden stool's ominous creaking beneath his bulk.

"In the future, non-combatants must take up work essential to the war effort." Motioning towards the oven with his head, Wilson continued, "Thermite munitions are relatively easy to produce because of the wide availability of it's essential components."

The cyborg lifted a hand, two fingers extended, "Iron oxide, or rust, and aluminum. This mixture is coupled with a high temperature ignition source, generally a small amount of magnesium, necessary for igniting the thermite payload."

"Okay," Savannah grasped the gist of it, but it still didn't explain why he was in the kitchen cooking, "And the oven?"

"The most efficient way to produce large quantities of iron oxide is to immerse iron objects in a salt water solution, a low grade electrical current speeds the process of oxidation considerably." Wilson stood, walking over to the oven and removing a cookie sheet covered in red-brown flakes. "In order to be useful, the iron oxide must be dehydrated following culture."

"So... you're not cooking it." The girl's brow scrunched for a moment before her eyes lit up, "You're drying it out!"

"Precisely." Setting the tray down on top of the oven, the cyborg hefted a massive black trash bag he'd stashed away behind the counter, metallic clinking leaving little mystery as to it's contents. "Luckily, the soldiers provide me with an ample supply of aluminum in the form of discarded beer cans. It is a simple matter to cut them into strips and shave them down for mixture with the iron oxide powder."

Lesson over over, the T-800 started making his way out to the work shed when an odd impulse overtook him, turning back to Savannah. "After you return from your fishing trip, I will be available if you wish to continue your training."

Then ten year old graced him with a toothy grin, waving enthusiastically, "I'd like that."

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 10th, 2011  
0721 hrs

_"And this is how it ends."_

The first sight greeting John as his mind rocketed into consciousness was his wife's face, six inches from his, contorted with concern while her left hand latched firmly around his straining neck.

"Wha...," he rasped. John's breathing became shallow, the only part of his body actually moving were his eyes, darting around frantically. "What are you doing?"

Cameron frowned, his mental state obviously worse than she'd previously contemplated, "I was checking your vitals, John. Your pulse and blood pressure are both way above..."

"Dammit Cameron!" In the space of a second his demeanor shifted from near panic attack to barely contained frustration, shooting out of bed with an audible growl. "I am not a fucking science project!"

"I know that. John, I'm your wife." Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Cameron stared at her husband in utter confusion, "I was worried."

The room suddenly felt freezing to John, the winter-chilled air bombarding the sweat coating his exposed chest and back, involuntary shivers rippling down his spine. The alarm clock beside the bed chose that exact moment to go off, a loud and nearly incomprehensible Armenian alt-rock station reminding him of exactly where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He didn't have time for this shit.

"Next time, Cameron..." John let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning towards the bathroom, "Try asking whats wrong."

Cameron was about to point out that she'd asked the night before and he'd refused to tell her, but John had already disappeared into the bathroom, the shower switching on a few seconds later. Still, humans could be frustratingly illogical when emotions became involved, John in particular. Deciding the issue hadn't been resolved to her satisfaction, she stripped off her tank-top and shorts and marched resolutely into the bathroom after her husband.

The scene couldn't help but remind her of their honeymoon, just a few days ago but now feeling like it was a lifetime away. John's careful and reverent ministrations, his professions of love. Cameron suddenly found it difficult to reconcile that man with the one she saw hunched against the shower wall, forehead resting atop a forearm while the water ran in torrents across his slumped shoulders and down his still relatively unmarred back.

"John?" Not wanting to startle him in his current state, Cameron gave him a moment to register her presence before sliding the glass door to the side and stepping into the stall behind him. When the first droplets of water began impacting her skin though, she was unpleasantly surprised, "That's freezing, John."

He just grunted from his position against the wall, "Clearing my head."

"But your head isn't clear." Easily ignoring the temperature, she closed the distance between them, letting her fingertips glide along his flanks, Cameron wrapped her arms around his stomach from behind, stepping forward and resting her cheek between his shoulder blades. "Let me help you."

John flinched noticeably as the nightmare flared through his mind, the words flying out of his mouth before they even became a conscious thought, more like some horrible genetic reflex. "I don't need your help, Cameron."

"I can take care of myself." Cycling the knob to the side, John slipped out of her grasp as hot water flooded the shower. "I'm done. It's all yours."

Cameron eyed him through the still open shower door while he began to towel off, staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "You told me to ask."

Pausing mid-motion while he toweled off his short-cropped hair, John tossed the fluffy gray object over his shoulder and took a steadying breath. "I know... and I appreciate it, alright?"

Even in this kind of mood he wasn't immune to her kicked-puppy expression, "C'mere."

Eying him skeptically, Cameron padded out of the still running shower to join him on the bath mat, allowing him to pull her into his arms and wrap the towel around her shoulders. He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead, rubbing the fluffy softness soothingly across her back and sides until she was reasonably dry. "I understand what you're trying to do."

"But you can't protect me from everything Cam. You just have to trust me on that." John lifted her chin with a crooked finger until she met his eyes, "I love you."

Giving her a half-hearted smile he pivoted on a heel and stalked naked into the bedroom, leaving Cameron with a perplexed frown. "You have a peculiar way of showing it."

By the time John had pulled on a shirt and a pair of sweats and brushed his teeth, Cameron was nowhere to be found in their room, most likely deciding their proximity to Sarkissian and his men necessitated a morning patrol. He couldn't say he was entirely disappointed with the prospect either.

He loved his new wife more than anything in this world, but one thing he'd never considered about the prospect of spending his life with her was the complete lack of privacy. Not in a physical sense, but in a very real way her incredibly sharp perceptions and vast array of sensory abilities meant his mind was an open book to her.

John could put on a brave face in front of the men, could laugh at their jokes and pretend he was in complete control, but Cameron would always know better. His own body betrayed him to her, the speed of his heart, the tiniest quiver in his voice, the sweat on his palms, even the direction his eyes twitched before responding to a question was one more tool in her arsenal.

It wasn't like he could hold it against her, Cameron couldn't control who she was and how she operated any more than he could, but it did lead to unexpected incidents like this morning. He didn't want anyone to ever see him like that. _Especially_ not his wife.

What he'd seen reflected in the deep brown of her eyes as she stared down at him... insanity. He'd looked so much like his mother in that moment it had nearly given him a heart attack. Like an animal one step shy of gnawing off it's own leg to escape.

And Cameron... she just couldn't understand. Love was new to her, and she accepted it like a constant. Because for her it was constant, unconditional in a way he'd never seen a human come close to. You were either in love with someone or you weren't, and if you were in love, you wanted to be together. She saw him pulling away as the absence of that love, despite three years of insight into his mind, she still didn't get it.

She thought she was protecting him, and he let her, because that's what she was good at. It's the role she's comfortable feeling. But John understood the new dynamic, had felt the shift that had begun and knew without a doubt it was his turn to protect her. To protect her from this new darkness he could feel creeping into him like a physical thing, to make sure it didn't undermine everything he'd tried to teach her about the value of human life. Cameron was supposed to be his anchor, the key to his humanity, he wouldn't corrupt her by exposing her to _him_.

To the General. To the part of him even his own mother couldn't learn to accept.

No, with Cameron, he had promised to always be John and if there was one positive thing you could say about John Connor, it was that he kept his word. Her entire existence had revolved around the war, the killing, something he could empathize with all too well. The difference was that she didn't have to live that life anymore, John could spare her from something even he couldn't escape.

Deep down, he knew that while she might not be there yet, some day Cameron would truly understand remorse. He also knew that day would be hell for her, and the fewer deeds filed away into the morally questionable category of her memory banks the easier it would be.

Besides, he'd always known this was a burden he would have to carry alone. A sacrifice he would make for the good of mankind. The blood would be on his hands and his hands alone, because no one else should have to suffer that on top of everything else the future would bring. The least he could do was give them someone to blame.

Absently flipping open the lid of the wooden box Cole had given him the night before, John prepped the Colt m1911 for action in a few deft moments, loading a magazine and chambering a round, taking a second to make sure the safety was on before slipping it into the band of his sweatpants. It was an awkward proposition, the weight of the old-fashioned sidearm nearly too much for the elastic band, but he felt naked even attending breakfast without a loaded weapon on hand these days.

John couldn't help but smirk a bit. _Derek would be so proud_.

By the time he made his way into the common area, he might not have been feeling entirely human, but at least he was starting to remember what it felt like. Cole was positioned between the plasma screen and the low-slung couch doing what appeared to be a morning calisthenics program, clad in a wife-beater and a pair of low-slung OD green cotton pajama pants with 'Commando' written across the ass, Dooley laughing at an admittedly bizarre Russian children's show a few feet behind.

Connor paused long enough to let out a yawn he'd been suppressing for the last few minutes, scratching the back of his neck and tilting his head to the side a bit at the Corporal's obvious grace. For some reason she never got involved when they conducted hand-to-hand drills, and since the other soldiers seemed too terrified to force her, John had never pushed the issue.

Darla paused for a moment as if sensing his presence, head quirking almost imperceptibly to the left before resuming her routine, though in a slightly modified fashion. Stretching both arms straight to the side, she rotated them back before clasping her hands behind her back, folding forward at her waist until she'd reached a ninety-degree angle. Unclasping her hands from behind her back, Darla rolled her shoulders forward until she resembled a swimmer about to dive, her upper body holding it's position while her legs slid further and further apart, only halting when her ass hit the floor.

It was about that time John felt a warm body bounce squarely off his back, startling him out of his frank appraisal.

"What's the idea, Einstein?" Lorne practically growled, the usually chipper Corporal glaring as she rubbed feebly at her eyes. "You've got this whole place to stand and you pick the fucking hallway?"

"I swear to God," Rachel's rant took a sudden derailing when her sleep-addled mind finally hard-booted enough to realize the figure blocking her path wasn't in fact Private Carmack. "What I meant to say was... um, sorry sir? Sure was clumsy of me. Yeah, I'll just... scootch around."

The Corporal's face was bordering on the scarlet while she shoved herself back against the wall and slithered past the bemused look Connor was giving her, his head shaking back and forth slowly. "I guess I'm not the only one with jetlag."

"Has nothin' to do with jet-lag, sir." Dooley commented dryly from the couch, eyes never leaving the odd muppet show on the television. "You've just never seen her before she's had coffee."

Cole just glanced coyly back over her shoulder, locking eyes with John in a way that clearly said, 'busted' before breaking out into a smile, " 'Morning Johnny."

John nodded curtly, coughing into his hand and making a bee-line for the kitchen for a glass of orange juice, earning him an odd look from Lorne who was already at the coffee pot, cradling her over-sized novelty coffee mug like it was the holy grail. Well, in fairness, John doubted the real Holy Grail had 'Hot Shit' written on the side, but on the whole the analogy still held water. "You do realize we've got a full pot right here, sir?"

Placing the bottle back into the fridge, John hefted his glass of orange juice with a slightly strained smile, "It a crime to try and eat healthy?"

He wasn't about to point out the fact he was jittery enough without adding caffeine to the mix, they were going to be dealing with serious business today and John needed his head as clear as possible.

Making her way into the kitchen with an exaggerated saunter, Cole shook her head while pulling her hair back into a tidy ponytail, "Married a week and she's already beaten him into submission."

"Has not." John fired off automatically, only realizing how childish it came out when everyone looked at him sideways. "Well, she hasn't!"

"Uh huh." The woman's face should have been painted for posterity and placed beneath 'skeptical' in the dictionary. "Just like it was your idea to quit smoking right?"

The novelty of foreign muppets having quickly grown stale in the absence of mind-altering substances, Dooley flopped down on a stool to John's right with a tired smile. "Look guys, it's anti-mom!"

"Drink your coffee!" His voice kept ratcheting up, becoming more annoying and screechy with every syllable. "Smoke your cigarettes! Cheat on your taxes! Is that a green vegetable I see? You're grounded mister!"

Darla swatted him upside the back of his head, ducking under his return swing on her way to the fridge. "Since when have you paid taxes, dipshit?"

"That would require a job Cole." The younger man pointed out, "I don't think they have forms covering refugees from the future. Refugees with steely blue eyes and a chin carved from the..."

Lorne glanced pleadingly at O'Brien as she entered the room, red hair a shock of curly disarray over a massive white t-shirt covering her to mid-thigh. "How the hell does Coons put up with this shit?"

"Practice." Amanda gave a one-shouldered shrug while flopping into her chair, her own reaction to the man's annoying habits the day before still fresh in her mind. And her bruised knuckles. "She says if you stare at his face long enough the words just kind of fade away."

Dooley graced the table with a cocky smile, "That's where the steely blue eyes come in."

"I smell food!" Lieutenant Hendrix's Texas drawl announced his entry from halfway down the long hallway, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "And thank the fuzzy Buddha, it don't smell like O'Brien's cookin'!"

Too tired to properly insult the man, the scout sniper settled for flipping him the bird over her shoulder.

Cole on the other hand was never too busy for a good one-liner, eying the man's appearance from her place at the stove, "You really know how to class up a joint, huh Huey?"

The Lieutenant waited until he'd slipped into his seat to give himself a thorough once-over, from his shirtless and tattoo-covered chest to the faded Bart Simpson boxer shorts, lifting his trucker cap off long enough to run a hand through his dark black hair. "Whatcha gettin' at?"

"Nothing LT." Chuckling to herself, Darla went back to attending her bacon, only stopping to pull the toast from the toaster before it burnt. "Nothing at all."

Easily ignoring the woman's not-quite-veiled insults, Hendrix nodded towards his CO. "Can we kill these fuckers already and get back to civilization while it's still around, sir?"

"Charging in guns blazing doesn't work very well against these guys, LT." John had hardly set aside his empty juice glass when a fresh mug of coffee was thrust in front of him by a smirking Cole. He rolled his eyes a bit, but it didn't stop him from taking a long swig. "They're entrenched and well armed, we can't afford those kind of losses."

Carmack shrugged, "We could just save ourselves the trouble and bring the building down on their heads."

At Connor's glare he amended his statement slightly, "If it wouldn't hurt so many innocent people... that is. Which would be wrong. Bad Dooley!"

"This isn't a Skynet hunt guys," John reminded them sternly, "This is us after one specific asshole who needs to die. Collateral damage is to be kept to an absolute minimum, understood?"

"Use your brain for more than a paperweight Carmack," Darla noted with a shrug, "They're not as worried about things like freedom and civil liberties here as they are in the West. If we blast half of downtown they'll lock down this country so tight we'll never make it out before Judgment Day. Dunno about you, but I'd rather not weather the war here."

Dooley looked like he was going to disagree but his brain shut down at the sight of Cole shoving a plate in front of his face. "You're a bitch, Cole. But you're a bitch who can cook."

"Agreed." O'Brien accepted her own plate with an eager grin, "Oooohhh hash-browns!"

The table fell into the closest thing Resistance fighters ever got to quiet, the sound of partially open mouths shoveling down food so fast that finger loss was a distinct possibility. That was until Darla joined them, setting her plate down and handing off John's.

"Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Cole?" Huey flicked up the bill of his hat, the picture of indignation. "Since when does Connor get twice as much food as the rest of us?"

Darla looked at the man like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Men grow until they're twenty-four dumbass."

"General's coming off his honeymoon LT, probably needs to carbo-load." Digging into her own breakfast, Cole shook her head. "I know I would."

Hendrix was smart enough to realize Darla had outmaneuvered him on that one. If he pitched a bitch now it would look like he didn't approve of the General's choice in brides. Even defeat wasn't that bad when you had fresh bacon to chew on, though.

Dooley shook his head, "Lucky bastard."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." John couldn't help himself, taking a large bite out of a sausage link with a shit-eating grin, "That's where the piercing green eyes come in, Private."

"Aye." O'Brien agreed with a wistful look and a passable Irish accent, "An Irishman could charm tha red off the devil himself."

The soldiers spent the next five minutes in near silence, everyone taking an unconscious breather to sort their thoughts for the day ahead. Communication descended into only the most primitive grunts and motions when coffee, butter, or syrup needed to be passed from one person to the other.

John was just finishing up his eggs when Lorne's voice snapped him out of his mental reshuffling of the teams for the day.

"Cameron!" The way Rachel was eying her friend while glancing pointedly in John's direction seemed to indicate his wife had been standing behind him for quite some time waiting for him to acknowledge her.

"Oh... hey." John ran a napkin over his mouth before trying to school his face into a convincing smile, "Where were you?"

Cameron glanced down at the nearly empty plate in front of him, extending her right hand almost hesitantly, a white plastic bag containing Styrofoam containers clutched in her fingers. "I was getting breakfast."

"Already taken care of champ," Darla noted unnecessarily. "No need to blow a gasket."

"I'm sorry, Cam." John shot the woman a look before turning back to his wife, "Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

"You were upset, I intended it to be a surprise." Cameron frowned, shuffling a bit beside John's chair while pointing out the obvious, "If I'd wanted you to know I would have made your breakfast in the kitchen."

Cole snorted, "This is new. You offering to make up my spot in the rotation?"

Cameron glared pointedly down at John's plate before setting the bags of food on the table beside him, "I was offering to feed my husband. I see now that was unnecessary."

Before Rachel could stop her she'd spun on a heel and marched back into their room, leaving an unnaturally silent table in her wake.

"Cameron, wait!" Lorne shoved her plate away with a shake of her head, snatching up the bag of food on her way out of the room. "Didn't want to eat the skank's eggs anyways."

Despite the flurry of activity in the past few seconds, John had remained almost preternaturally still, eyes focused on some random point on the wall ahead of him. The remaining occupants of the table suddenly found themselves confronted with the feeling of being in the presence of a ticking time bomb, a time bomb which had been slowly gnawing away at the same piece of bacon for the last two minutes.

It was amazing how perceptive soldiers could become when faced with imminent danger - all it took from John was a tilt of his head and the subtle clearing of his throat for the crowd to disperse towards their rooms to prep, all except Cole, who he kept rooted to the spot with an exasperated glare.

"You picked a stupid moment to pull this shit Darla." John shoved his own plate in the woman's direction, jaw grinding as he spoke. "I don't expect you two to hold hands and braid each other's hair. But this friction between the two of you? Not happening."

"I don't have the time or patience to hand-hold you people." Pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh, he tossed his head in the direction of the bedroom. "You'll treat Cameron with the same respect you treat me or our working relationship is about to take a decidedly unpleasant turn. Get me?"

"Get you, sir." Darla had the good sense not to push the issue, though she was obviously bristling at his brusque treatment.

"You said you wanted to impress me." Ignoring her attitude, John spread his hands wide, "I'm waiting."

"Sir..."

"Get dressed, we're Oscar Mike in thirty." Slipping out of his chair, Connor trudged off towards the bathroom to shave. "It's time to be bad guys."

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
15th Floor, Municipal Parking Garage  
March 10th, 2011  
0951 hrs

Rachel generally enjoyed her time alone with Cameron, the cyborg exhibiting a side she rarely showcased in front of the others, but today stood in stark contrast to their usually easy-going rapport. Lying prone in the back of a blacked-out SUV on the roof of a parking structure to the west of Arte Sarkissian's offices, the pair had barely spoken two words to each other since taking up position an hour before.

The silence was starting to get to the spunky young Resistance fighter, made even worse by the fact she was at a loss as to how to break it. Connor wouldn't be in position for at least another twenty minutes, which left work-related chatter to a decided minimum.

Lorne exhaled slowly through her nose, doing her best to keep her tone light and conversational, as it was best not to antagonize the cyborg with the sniper rifle. "Soooo... John was being kind of an ass this morning, huh?"

"Yes." Cameron's gaze never wavered from the scope, though her frown was evident. "He was."

"Uh huh." Rachel nodded along in agreement, happy she'd at least gotten a verbal reply this time. "Wanna talk about it?"

Brown eyes darted away from the cross-hairs for the space of a second before resolutely returning to their task, "No."

"Okay..." Sighing in defeat, the Corporal settled in for what was apparently going to be a very long, very quiet mission. There really was no reason for her to be there in the first place! It may be tradition to pair a sniper with a spotter, but when the sniper was a machine capable of instantly calculating range, wind speed, and elevation, you became kind of redundant.

More than a minute of oppressive silence had elapsed before Cameron made a frustrated sound at the base of her throat, "He ate another woman's eggs."

The sharp bark of laughter escaping Rachel's throat earned her a death glare from her partner, leading her to quickly follow up with, "I'm sure he didn't mean to insult you Cameron."

"No." Cameron confirmed quietly, taking a moment to adjust her sight. "He accomplished that another way."

Rachel thought about the slightly cryptic statement for a moment before the light went off behind her eyes, "By making you work with Cole? Cameron, who else was going to explain this shit to her? I can barely read, you know that."

It was Lorne's turn to frown, being functionally illiterate wasn't exactly something one was proud of, but there had been little time to learn how between running from the machines and learning to fight back.

"What you saw was only one occurrence." The cyborg shook her head, "He's been... distant, lately."

"Distant?" Rachel scoffed a bit at that, "Didn't you guys just have your honeymoon? How distant can a guy be?"

"It's my understanding that couples communicate their feelings and thoughts to each other," She pointed out softly, "John won't discuss anything with me."

"Cameron." The Corporal smiled reassuringly, "Men are like that some times. It's practically fucking genetic to hold shit in."

"You don't understand." A little bitterness began to creep into Cameron's voice at the declaration, "John has always made time for me. Even if it was just to explain something I didn't understand, he always helped me."

Lorne finally felt like she was getting somewhere, Cameron's emotional reaction telling her they were getting to the heart of the issue. "Did you guys have a fight?"

"No, not a fight." Glancing up over her shoulder, her brows knit together in confused frustration, "He just won't let me help him. He won't tell me why."

"Okay." Nodding along, Rachel was forced to admit she couldn't help much with the limited intel her friend was providing. "If you don't mind me asking... what is it he needs your help with exactly?"

"He's worried, but he won't say about what." Cameron never rambled, but this was as close as Lorne had ever seen her come to it, "This morning, when he woke up, he was having a nightmare, and... he seemed to be afraid of me."

"John could never be afraid of you," Rachel assured her sincerely, though she looked a little shaken by the idea anything was capable of scaring _the_ General Connor. "Is that all? He wouldn't tell you about his dream?"

"I didn't get the chance to ask, he yelled at me and got in the shower." Cameron set the rifle down for the first time since they'd arrived, staring out the window for a solid thirty seconds before continuing. "Rachel?"

Despite being more than a little pissed off at the 'he yelled at me' part of her friend's explanation, Rachel was trying to help. "Yeah?"

"I'm concerned John doesn't love me anymore." If they hadn't been in such awkward quarters, the doe-eyed look the cyborg was giving her would have had Lorne yanking her into a hug.

Instead, she settled for shaking her head vehemently, "Why would you even think that? John worships the ground you walk on."

"He refused my advances," Cameron pointed out logically, "He's never done that before."

"Refused your...," Rachel went a little cross-eyed, a few seconds later figuring out what her friend was getting at. "Oh! You mean you wanted to and he... didn't?'

"Yes, and yes. I don't know what to do about it." Cameron frowned pointedly, "He doesn't want to have sex with me. All my information indicates he is in need of release, but he refuses to. Twice."

"That's not all that strange, is it?" Rachel thought about it for a moment, coloring a bit near the ears. "What makes you so sure he needs...release?"

"Since we first engaged in sexual relations, this is the longest period of time we've gone without copulating." Going back to her rifle like they were simply discussing the weather, Cameron continued, "John's stress response, blood pressure, and endorphin levels have become steadily more worrisome since our honeymoon."

Lorne nodded, "Now he's having nightmares?"

"Yes." Cameron confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to fix him."

"Well, I'm not a shrink." Rachel shrugged a little helplessly, "Obviously you know John better than I do. You think being with you will help him?"

That at least, Cameron remained sure of. "He relaxes in my presence, he's told me I'm his 'happy place'. Though I fail to see how emotional comfort relates to geographical positioning."

"He loves you Cameron." The soldier bumped her shoulder into her friend's good-naturedly, "Have you tried hanging out a little bait?"

The cyborg's head tilted reflexively, "Bait?"

"Yeah." Rachel could literally feel her blush spreading along her cheeks. This would have been much more comfortable for all involved if alcohol had been present from the outset. "Attract him physically? what do you normally do to get things started?"

"I kiss him, then he kisses me." Cameron seemed to be at a loss, providing as an afterthought, "Sometimes I'm on top."

"That's kind of basic." The Corporal struggled to find a frame of reference she would understand, "Have you noticed he likes it when you do certain things? Or wear certain clothes?"

Her reply was automatic, "I usually don't wear anything."

"Not _during_ sex Cameron, before sex. All those sensors you've got and you don't know what gets his blood pumping?"

"His heart pumps his blood." Cameron looked incredulous, "Why would I care what I wear before sex?"

"It's not that you care," Lorne shrugs, "It's about what he cares about. What catches his eye and..." considering their earlier miss-communications, she decided to clarify, though from her blush it clearly took some effort, "gets him aroused."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining." The very corner of the cyborg's lips quirked up into a smile, "He seems to be fond of blue."

"There you go!" Rachel swatted her on the back, earning a raised eyebrow. "Just toss on some of that lingerie we picked up in Colorado and you're golden. He may be General Connor, but he's still a nineteen year old human male. You might also think about adding a little variety to your um... positions."

"Positions?" Cameron pivoted on the girl like an intrigued child, face full of sincere interest, "We've both been on top."

"Oh God." The Resistance fighter couldn't entirely suppress a plaintive whimper, paling noticeably. "Don't you have like... files on this?"

"Skynet didn't think it necessary to include much beyond the most efficient ways to kill him." She readjusted her scope, the picture of nonchalance, "Ways to make love to him weren't a mission priority."

Just as Rachel was debating between trying to respond and asking Cameron if a human being had ever actually died from embarrassment, she was saved by the proverbial bell.

John's voice rasped through their earbuds, knocking them both back into mission readiness in the space of a second. "Bishop to Overwatch One, what do ya see?"

There was a short pause, followed by Carmack's default cocky reply, "We see everything, Bishop. Two plain-clothes bodyguards arrived with the target, they're holed up in a room between the lobby and Sarkissian's office on the eighteenth floor."

"Exit strategy?" Lorne couldn't help but notice the way Cameron smiled almost unconsciously whenever John was speaking.

O'Brien broke across the channel, "Shit hits the fan I can cover most of the approaches to the North-Eastern stairwell. Be advised, every fourth floor on this fucker is ringed with stone, we don't have eyes and you will not, I repeat, _will not_, have cover."

"It's a charity meeting Overwatch." John covered a laugh, "I'm hoping the sniper support will prove unnecessary. Remember the ROE, no one fires unless or until I give the word, we're here for intel not blood. This girl didn't do anything to us."

"Understood." O'Brien sounded less than thrilled, which was to be expected, Resistance snipers rarely operated in circumstances where the term 'non-combatants' existed. Targets were either enemies or allies, metal or men.

Cameron cut across the channel as the rental car carrying Cole and John pulled up to the front of the building, "Overwatch Two now has eyes on Bishop."

"Never thought I'd be happy to be in someone's sniper scope. " John quipped, obviously trying to ease a little of the pre-mission tension, "Keep comms open and stay locked on our twenty."

Patting the reassuring bulge of the Colt at the small of his back, he took a last deep breath before slipping out of the passenger side door. "Alright boys and girls... lets do this."

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note: Huge thank you to my Beta bigbew who you can thank for this chapter being posted before the turn of the century. As always, thanks so much to everyone who takes the time to leave their thoughts and reviews, you guys really make the effort put into writing this worth it.


	24. Chapter 24

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 24/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 07/26/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 24 - 'What I did on my Armenian Vacation'

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 10th, 2011  
0830 hrs

The early morning light was just starting to pierce the hazy winter cloud cover which had descended on them from the Rockies the day before, glinting and glimmering off the gleaming silvery expanse of the butterfly knife Sarah sat twirling idly between her fingertips, fascinated by the way the reflected sunlight danced along the far all of her bedroom.

For someone who just days before had been nearly catatonic, the elder Connor was feeling remarkably lucid and clearheaded at the moment. Though any reputable mental health practitioner would have had kittens just contemplating the ramifications of her little experiment, Sarah had found the whole ordeal to be strangely, startlingly therapeutic.

She had needed to know. She had needed to be absolutely sure. Now she was...

Sarah Connor wasn't human anymore.

Well, not entirely at the very least. And her son had done this to her, let a _machine_ do this to her! Sarah knew he'd only had the best intentions, but that he would do something like this without consulting her, without even feeling the need to inform her, was a thought she just couldn't reconcile with the image of her son in her mind.

A sharp rap at the door knocked her back from her ruminations, settling firmly in the 'now'. It was good to have a purpose again, even if it was one she'd rather have avoided upon pain of death. "Come in."

There was a short pause, followed by Derek opening the door a bit awkwardly, the knob on the opposite side of his good arm forcing him to reach across his chest to push it along the new and still stiff carpet. "I'm workin' on it."

"Wow." Sarah noted with a sardonic grin, "Getting the cripple act down to a science, I see."

The soldier shook his head tiredly, "Like I haven't been hearing that every day since I... oh wait, you wouldn't know, you've been locked up here in your room."

Despite his words and his general attitude, Derek was forced to admit Sarah was looking far better than she had been the last time he'd seen her. The color had returned to her skin, which actually looked freshly scrubbed, she still hadn't had a hair cut but it was at least pulled back into a tight ponytail, clad now in a gray tank-top and a pair of jeans.

The butterfly knife she was twirling idly in her left hand was admittedly unsettling, but what really worried him were the obvious cuts along her right forearm. She obviously hadn't been trying to hide them, or the tank-top would have been a stupid call, a series of evenly spaced horizontal slashes in various stages of the healing process, the ones closest to her wrist were noticeably fresher than those further up the arm. "Jesus, Sarah! How long have you been cutting on yourself?"

"Oh, that?" Flipping her arm over so casually you'd have thought Derek was asking about a new watch, Sarah shrugged, "Just started this morning."

"Bullshit." Someone who had seen as much time on the battlefield as Derek Reese knew what a wound was supposed to look like, "Some of those are days, maybe even weeks old."

"Hah!" Leaning back against the headboard with an odd smile, Sarah regarded her forearm coolly, "I could win so many bar bets with this."

Derek quirked a skeptical brow, "With what?"

"With this." Without so much as a millisecond's indecision, Sarah brought the blade up to an unmarred section of her wrist, dragging it down across the skin with a casual flick of her wrist.

"Sarah!" Derek moved on instinct, only halting in his grab for the knife when Sarah angled the point at him, that same sickly smile playing across her features. Unable to do much else, he tossed his good arm up in surrender, "What the fuck, Sarah?"

"Just wait for it." Swiping the small amount of blood having spilled onto the blade off onto her jeans, Sarah simply kept her left arm aloft, palm upwards while she went back to playing idly with the butterfly knife, the sight holding Derek enamored and mystified totally pedestrian to her at this point.

"What the..." The Resistance fighter trailed off into incomprehensible sputters as the blood seeping from the gash along her arm literally seemed to stop it's spread before his eyes, already taking on the telltale appearance of a hardening scab. "My God, all of those really were from today, weren't they?"

Using the tip of the blade as a pointer, Sarah motioned to an unmarked section of flesh a few inches above the first pinkish scar. "I started up here, you can't even see them anymore."

"Does it..." Derek shook his head, "Hurt?"

"Like a bitch." Connor flipped the knife closed in a few deft movements, but continued to twirl it between her fingers, "And I feel like I could eat a fucking horse. Charley says it's the machines speeding up my metabolism to aid the healing process. Fun fun."

The younger man scoffed a bit, "This is what you wanted to see me about?"

"No." The look on Sarah's face was grim, only the unshakable resolve that had made her a legend to the Resistance a clue she was feeling anything at all. "What happened to him?"

"Who?"

"John." Sarah shook her head, "The one you knew."

"Huh?" The suddenly evasive look on Derek's face told her he knew exactly what she was referring to, he was just too smart to step into that minefield unless absolutely necessary. "He was fine when I left."

"Cut the shit Reese!" At this distance it was pretty clear he didn't want to further antagonize her, the tendons in her neck looked like they were about to snap... just not before his spine. "You did a real good job of avoiding pretty much any mention of the John you knew in the future, and I always wondered why."

"Then came the new recruits and it all started to make a sick kind of sense." Sarah could only shake her head, coldly walking John's uncle down memory lane. "You act like you don't give a shit, but this is the only family you've ever had outside Kyle and you know it. Though you'll probably even try to deny it at this point, you didn't want to hurt John - to hurt me."

She waited a long moment, giving the younger man an opportunity to deny her words, when he didn't she simply nodded curtly and continued, "But these soldiers aren't family and after getting drunk and randomly fucking each other, talking about the General is their favorite past-time."

"So you tell me, Reese." Sarah motioned towards Derek, creepily enough with the hand still idly twirling her butterfly knife, "You tell me what turned my John, my boy, into that monster."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Reese slumped back against the wall with a weary sigh, "He wasn't a monster, Sarah. Not one of us is any position to judge him for the decisions he was forced to..."

" 'No Fate!' " Sarah looked like she was about to strike him, the left side of her mouth pulling up in an almost animal sneer, "We always have a choice Derek. Or was that just more of the bullshit he used to control his little subjects?"

He wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but Sarah's tirade was starting to yank on threads she didn't want to see unraveled, the very reason Derek had never broached the subject in the three years he'd been sharing the Connor's home. "It's not that simple."

There was no mirth in Sarah's laugh, "Not this time Derek. No... just, no. Do you realize that I've been living with this since I was John's age? And everything I've done I've done on faith. Now, for once in my life, I want a straight fucking answer."

After eying the still-cracked door for so long Sarah was sure he was going to bolt, Derek shut the portal and popped the lock, grinding his jaw back and forth in thought. "You first."

Despite the bravado both were so in the habit of trying to exude, the soldier's behavior never failed to wrangle a smirk in the 60 percent irritated, 40 percent amused range. "If that's your idea of a pickup line, you not only have brain damage, but the universe's worst sense of timing."

"Cut the shit Connor." Only Derek's oft-underestimated wit saved him from a firm kick upside the head, "You want me to get into a bunch of shit I'd rather avoid like the plague? Fine."

Reese tossed his uninjured arm up in the air, the half-shrug oddly comical considering the circumstances, "Because you're right Sarah, we're family. We're all two steps shy of certifiable."

Despite himself, Derek's eyes fell almost unconsciously to the cuts along Sarah's forearm, "Maybe more like one step in your case..."

"But my point!" He interjected before the older woman could derail him, "Is that if I tell you, the only reason I am is because of who you are and who we are. I wasn't sure we had that kind of... relationship."

"If we do, fine. Good!" Looking totally out of his comfort zone discussing any form of emotions, Derek started pacing the room, good hand scratching the stubbly hair at the back of his skull in agitation. "But that kind of shit is a two-way street, right? If we're close enough for you to expect me to spill to you, then, well, it's only fair that you spill too!"

"And... and no more of this thousand yard stare, 'I'm one step away from castrating you', bullshit either!" Though he rarely found an outlet to vent his thoughts and emotions, once you got him started, he was about as easy to stop as a runaway train. "It's a clever little defense mechanism, but I'm not buying it!"

Even Sarah had to quirk a brow at that, "Really now? Didn't realize you had a psychology degree."

"Don't need one." Derek snapped, rolling his eyes, "You want honest? Fine - here's honest: you're not half as fucked up as you like to pretend you are!"

"Oh?" She actually chuckled a bit, "Is that right?"

"Look, I know I'm not the smartest guy you've ever met.."

Sarah snorted, "Big of you to admit that."

"_But_," Derek interjected, "There are a few things I know a little more about than you do."

"I know crazy, Sarah." He pointed squarely at her chest, "And you ain't crazy."

"Depressed? Yep." Derek nodded along as he ticked points off the fingers of his injured left hand, "Emotional? Yeah. Confused? Seems likely. Angry? Oooohhhh, better fucking believe you're..."

"But not crazy." Sarah snapped, "Good to know. Wasn't there supposed to be a question in here somewhere? Not that it isn't fun having your negative personality traits listed in front of you like that."

"Yeah." Shaking his head, Derek shrugged, "You tell me why you want to know this shit... and I'll tell you. That's the deal."

"Wow." The older woman scoffed, "Seriously?"

Derek just nodded, "Seriously."

"You.."It was Sarah's turn to point, "Derek Reese, want to talk about _feelings_?"

Reclaiming his earlier spot against the wall beside the door, he just shrugged and tossed a thumb towards the hallway, "I can leave if you're not interested."

Sarah eyed him skeptically for a good five minutes, actually a little impressed with the soldier's ability to stare her down for such a length of time, apparently his practice sessions against Cameron were starting to pay off. Letting a low growl slip passed her clenched teeth, Sarah made sure her face adequately conveyed her willingness to cooperate, "I need to know Derek..."

Suddenly eying her son's uncle pleadingly, she was barely able to keep her voice steady long enough to finish the sentence, "So that maybe...together, we can find a way to stop it."

Derek considered her answer for a long moment before nodding once, apparently satisfied with her part of the deal. "Fair enough."

"Now get comfortable." Making his own way over to the chair beside her bed Charley had brought in when she'd had her little breakdown, he tried to force a smile, "This is gonna take a while."

* * *

ZLCD Towers  
Yerevan Armenia  
March 10th, 2011  
1015 hrs

Darla Cole wasn't usually the introspective type, but even she was forced to tip her hat a bit to the sheer freaking randomness of the universe when confronting the image staring back at her in the reflective surface of the elevator doors in from of them.

If you'd pulled her off the battlefield a few years ago and told her she would some day find herself standing in a pantsuit next to a nineteen year-old John Connor in the lobby of commercial tower in Armenia, about to take a meeting with the head of a children's charity who also just happened to be the daughter of a former General and KGB agent who tried to kill Sarah Connor and Lt. Reese... well, she was actually in the process of doing it, and even Darla wasn't entirely convinced it was really happening.

She may have initially had her doubts, but Cameron and Lorne had cleaned John up nicely. Unlike when he'd headed into Weaver's base wearing an ill-fitting number he had borrowed from Charley, the top shelf black pinstripe John was sporting today really sold the part. From his painstakingly spiked up hair to the four thousand dollar diving watch, John Connor practically screamed 'next-gen tech guru'. He'd even worked up a funny extreme sports related story if the subject of his scars came up, not that Darla anticipated a charity head in search of funds would broach that particular discrepancy.

Cole on the other hand felt entirely out of place and had a sneaking suspicion that was exactly what the General's wife had been going for when she'd prepped her for this little op. If this girl was involved with her father's vendetta against the Connors, she would know what the Baums looked like circa three years ago, and while John was hardly recognizable compared to the slightly scrawny baby-faced teen, Cameron was still a carbon copy of her earlier self.

The cyborg obviously understood the reason why she wasn't at John's side for this one, but had just as obviously been... displeased with his choice of partner and in typical Cameron fashion, decided to make Darla's life a living hell. While John looked like he'd stepped off the cover of GQ, she looked like a fucking librarian. Machines were nothing if not thorough, and it was like Cameron had gone through a checklist of every one of Darla's positive physical features and taken the most expedient route to neutralizing them.

Pouty lips and piercing eyes? Slather on the light makeup until your features are so washed out you look anemic and toss in a pair of square secretary's glasses for good measure.

Shiny, bouncy hair? Classic 'stick up your ass' librarian ponytail to the rescue!

Athletic, streamlined body? We'll just stick you in a pantsuit that makes you look like you've got the build of a ten year old boy.

Creature of extraordinary grace? Easy, we'll take the Resistance soldier from the future and slap on a pair of 4 inch high heels, laughing uncontrollably as she tries not to break her fucking neck.

But the part that really bothered her? The nagging fact boring into the back of her brain minute after minute, hour after hour, driving her up the fucking walls? That this was _exactly_ the kind of thing she would have done in Cameron's place.

Bitch wasn't just beating her - she was beating her at her own game. _That dog won't hunt_.

Cole couldn't help but smirk a bit at the ridged set of her CO's shoulders, "Relax Johnny."

John quirked a brow, "Don't I look relaxed?"

"You look pissed." Darla pointed out good-naturedly.

Despite his mood, Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes, "Would have thought you'd be smart enough to avoid bringing that up. You know, with you being partially at fault for it and everything."

"Right." Darla snorted, "Would you stop piling this stuff on me Johnny? You were in a shit mood from the moment you stepped out of your room this morning."

"No, don't try to deny it." Cole took a certain sort of pleasure from not only the fact that they were in a rare circumstance where Connor couldn't just go nuclear on her, as well as the fact the open comm meant Cameron was picking up every word. "Why the fuck do you think I made you breakfast? I kill people Johnny, I'm not a God-damned short order cook. The fact is that I went out of my way to do something nice for you on the off chance you needed a friend, then wifey got bent out of shape and you were ready to toss my ass in the fire to avoid a fight."

Ending her rant with a sharp exhalation through her nose, Darla shook her head, unflattering ponytail bobbing back and forth across her shoulders. "Now, you're supposed to be a hot-shit millionaire, so how about showing a little more General and a little less mopey fucking teenager before you get our asses dead, _sir_?"

John could only stare at her, mouth slightly agape when the elevator dinged to announce it's arrival, both stepping in and pivoting at the exact same moment and leaning back against the far wall as the doors closed on them. Pushing the button for the eighteenth floor, he eyed the older woman skeptically, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You got a better plan?"

"Really? You finally want my opinion?" Cole stepped forward instantly, thumbing the emergency stop and bringing the elevator to a grinding halt. "How big of you Johnny, after all, it's only my fucking _job_!"

Connor just stared at her for a long moment before raising a hand to the nondescript cellphone earpiece in his right ear, "Overwatch, wait one."

Flipping the device off before Cameron could respond, John took a deep breath to compose himself before continuing in monotone, "Just for the record, you picked an awesome moment to bring up your objections."

"Rule number three of dealing with Connor," Darla rattled off in the same disinterested tone, doing more than anything to remind her CO who had trained her. "If the General wants your opinion, he'll ask for it."

"You and your fucking..." John trailed off, his brow arching nearly to his hairline in shock. "You're telling me you had serious objections about this operation and didn't bring them to my attention because..."

Darla looked at him like he was slow, "Because it's not my job to question you, Johnny. It's my job to observe, catalog, and be ready to execute your orders without hesitation."

"Uh huh." He gave her a bemused smile, "And I didn't order you to give me your opinion?"

"Opinions are like assholes Johnny." Cole shook her head, "Everyone has one and they get in the way. We exist to give you options, not opinions."

She shoved a finger into his chest, "Yours is the only opinion that matters. Get it?"

"Okay." Clicking his tongue, John fixed her with a classic Connor glare, "But I don't make it a habit to take command advice from Corporals, so while it's just you and me in here picking awkward times to bring shit up, why not tell me who you really are."

Cole looked like a weight had literally been lifted from her shoulders, a year's worth of lies and deception over the only way it could end - with an order from John to come clean. "I don't have a rank, sir."

In the space of a second, John was back to skeptical, "Everyone has a..."

"Soldier have ranks." Darla smirked, tossing in a one-shouldered shrug for good measure, "But when you do what I do, ranks get in the way. They make things unnecessarily...complicated."

"Funny," he rolled his eyes, "I thought they existed to clear shit up."

"Not when you have to order a Captain to kill a Colonel." The older woman's smile was gone, letting Connor know exactly how serious she was. "Sometimes its easier to work outside the system. People knew that I answered to you, that was enough."

John nodded along, looking oddly numb, "And if I ordered you to..."

"I would kill every person in this building." There wasn't so much as a scrap of hesitation in her eyes when she stepped in front of him. No, only the squared-shoulder pride of the true fanatic. "I would carve my way through the streets of this city until I found Sarkissian, then I would bring you his fucking heart."

What did it say about John Connor that these kind of incidents didn't even raise his blood pressure anymore? While a large part of him wanted to be disgusted, to tell her that nothing warranted that kind of blind loyalty, it was practically old hat for him at this point. Had Darla admitted to being capable of anything that Uncle Bob, or Wilson, or even Cameron wouldn't have carried out just as casually had he ordered it?

If he'd told her to, Cameron would have hunted Sarkissian down by herself and either put him out of action or died trying, and she probably wouldn't have cared how many people became collateral damage along the way unless it he'd ordered her otherwise. No, this was all insanely, extraordinarily, unbelievably...pedestrian.

For the first time he was forced to ask himself a question he'd never considered before - why hadn't he? If you ignored his obvious emotional attachment, it wasn't beyond the scope of Cameron's abilities to take care of this problem. In fact, one unassuming terminator could likely have infiltrated and dispatched the target far more easily than this team could. A team whose lives he was risking every minute they were here.

Was he risking them unnecessarily? For what? Why was he risking the lives of his men to preserve the lives of a bunch of innocent people, most of whom would be dead in a nuclear firestorm in a little over a month?

They could have taken out his motorcade with a missile launcher from a mile away, instead he'd placed himself and possibly his most valuable asset in the jaws of the beast with only a pair of sidearms and spotty sniper cover. All because he'd been convinced it was the best way to preserve life.

"Okay." John frowned, "What would... what would _he_ do? Just charge at Sarkissian and mow down anything that got in his way?"

"Of course not," Darla shook her head, "That's my style, the General was always more subtle. But whatever you do Johnny, you have to do it and see it through. This half-assed, 'we'll observe and gather intel' shit has got to stop. We were attacked, sir, what more intel do you need? Sarkissian is holed up in an impenetrable fortress surrounded by guards, and we're standing two hundred feet beneath his Achilles heel, which happens to be protected by two fucking people! You have an in, you have leverage, why the hell won't you use it?"

Locking her eyes on his she looked at him imploringly, "You said you wanted us to be bad guys, right? What are we waiting for? Lets be bad guys!"

John held her gaze for a ten count before turning back to the front of the car, thumbing the emergency stop and reactivating his comm. "You've got eight floors to convince me."

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
ZLCD Towers  
March 10th, 2011  
1032 hrs

To imply that Arte Sarkissian was in a less than spectacular mood this morning would have been an understatement of down-right biblical proportions.

She had spent most of the previous day in 'meetings' with her father and Uncle Dimitri, which for her translated into sitting mutely while the two rehashed failed strategies and tried to plan new ones using the same incomplete intelligence they'd had since the beginning. Arte had always held her father and his oldest friend in the highest regards, knowing more than anyone else the kind of things they were capable of, but she feared their personal stake in this venture was overruling their better judgment.

Though they had been estranged for the better part of a decade, the loss of Margos had been in many ways the final act of Pezevenk Sarkissian's downfall. Once the unquestioned shadow-head of the Soviet's intelligence operation in the Black Sea region, he now found himself only one of many former Generals whose once vast empires had dwindled to glorified organized crime and petty international thuggery.

Even her father readily admitted the only difference between him and an American 'Teflon Don' was the quality of their street-fighters. In nearly any other region of the world, a man like Pezevenk could have ruled their nation with an iron fist. Africa, Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and South America were overrun with examples of just such men, seizing the opportunities thrust upon them by an unstable political climate and an outside world without a vested interest in the outcome.

But this was not any other part of the world, this was Eastern Europe, the uneasy no-man's land between the democracies of the West, and the now economically resurgent Russian Federation, an entity who was wasting no time in reasserting their authority over the regions it deemed to fall within it's sphere of influence. No, Pezevenk had no desire for Armenia to go the way of Georgia, nor did Arte for that matter.

They had enough problems within their tiny corner of the world without antagonizing the increasingly volatile giant next door. Despite growing up in relative affluence, the young woman was far from blind to the plight of her fellow countrymen, even leading her to adapt a charity organization originally created to launder mob money into a legitimate enterprise. Granted, her father had only allowed it because of the good will it engendered with local officials, who were now not only compensated monetarily, but were actively encouraged by a grateful populace to look the other way when it came to Pezevenk's less legitimate activities.

It was a system that benefited everyone and allowed her family to thrive unmolested, and while far from perfect, it was the closest thing to it Arte imagined her position would ever allow. Her father on the other hand was never happy with his diminished place in the world, and likely never would be. A large part of her couldn't help but wonder how much of the man's current crusade was motivated by the desire to feel effectual again. To be at the center of events greater than himself.

Their enemy had other plans. Arte understood her father's desire for revenge, though she was far more apt to believe that Margos had likely brought his fate upon himself, but these Americans were not the toothless prey they appeared to be. Their first attack should have been enough to deal with such people despite the unprofessional nature of the 'hired help' they'd been forced to employ so as not to leave a visible path leading to her father, but despite seriously wounding the mother's boyfriend, they had proven dismal failures.

Even her father's men had been unable to do any better, though the bizarre sequence of events leading to the team's destruction had left them all with more questions than answers. They had apparently engaged the Baums and their band of revolutionaries during an attempted assault on an American industrial complex. Though initially reporting little resistance from either the company's security forces or their target, the situation had quickly devolved into chaos.

With the exception of a few garbled transmissions involving a daring enemy assault from the roof involving no less than a platoon of Baum's troops and a final reference to a company security officer who could apparently withstand sustained machine gun fire, they had no further information on the fate of the assault force. The American government or the company themselves had obviously gone to a lot of effort to keep the entire incident under wraps, which wasn't all that disappointing when Arte considered the fact those men could have easily been traced back to her father's employ.

Had she been in charge, she would have left well enough alone before these Baums decided they were too big a threat to be ignored. Three years of work, three years of study, and Arte still wasn't entirely convinced they even existed. A few records here and there, John and Cameron's school registrations, a handful of bills paid by Sarah, always in cash with only a scribbled signature as evidence of her existence.

There was always a moment when you could choose to walk away while you were still capable, but Arte could feel that window closing rapidly.

A knock at the door knocked her back from her musings, making it a point to plaster on the bright smile foreign philanthropists always expected while Tanya ushered her 10:30 appointment into her office, stumbling through the introductions in English for the benefit of their guests, "Ms. Sarkissian, this is Ms. Gennaro, who you speak to on phone yesterday."

Darla stepped forward with a surprisingly warm smile, offering her left hand in greeting after nodding towards the cast on her right arm apologetically, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Of course, Ms. Gennaro." Fluent in five languages, English being the second, Arte found the young woman's voice oddly void of any regional inflection, something most Americans carried like an unconscious badge of honor. The man beside her was far easier to read, though what she saw there in no way meshed with the scant information she'd been provided prior to the meeting.

Though someone had obviously gone to great pains to paint the picture of a rich West Coast dot-com millionaire, the way he carried himself would have been crystal clear in a clown costume. His gait, his confidence, the way his eyes took in the entire room while barely moving, these were traits more in keeping with her father's associates than a pampered computer geek looking to avoid his taxes by supporting her charity. Still, while she shared her father's intuitive abilities, Arte did not share his paranoia. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid your name has slipped my mind, Mr..."

"McClane." Stepping forward and extending his hand, Arte found her suspicions to be thoroughly grounded by every new fact her senses cataloged about the man. His stubbled and scarred face had thrown her from a distance, but up close it was obvious Mr. McClane was even younger than her twenty-four years, his strong, weathered hands spoke more of endless hours of exercise or heavy physical labor than clicking away at a keyboard. "But my friends call me John."

"Then I shall as well, John." Shoving her doubts to the back of her mind, Arte motioned for the pair to take a seat, "Would either of you care for a coffee? Water?"

She smirked good-naturedly, "Bottled I assure you, I've been told new arrivals find the tap water... disagreeable."

"No thank you." Sliding down into an antique high-backed chair easily worth more than every car at their safe house combined, John shook his head, "We just came from breakfast."

At Arte's nod her assistant slipped quietly from the room, shutting the large wooden doors behind her and leaving the three weary occupants to their own version of cold war. It was a tableau straight out of a bad spy novel, everyone in the office could tell that things were not as they seemed, forced smiles and practiced nonchalance giving way to tense postures and quickly darting eyes. Still, like their counterparts facing off for more than forty years, they clung to their flimsy covers and their pleasant smiles like they were the only thing staving off Armageddon.

"Is this the first time you have visited my country, Mr. McClane?" Steepling her hands in front of her, Arte's smile was probably the most genuine in the room, the warriors on the other side of the table a little too unaccustomed to normal social interactions to really pull it off.

"Sure is." John nodded side to side, leaning back into his chair with a shrug. Only Darla recognized the way he pivoted his hips to leave an open avenue to his sidearm, "How could you tell?"

The older woman motioned to their clothes, "You obviously aren't accustomed to our winters."

"West Coast born and bred," Connor assessed the woman with a more careful eye, "Anything under seventy degrees and we're shaking like a politician in church."

Leaning forward across the massive hardwood desk, Arte's smile never wavered, "Or a soldier in Colorado?"

The room froze for a good thirty seconds, the kind of silence most people associated with waiting for a bomb to go off while John and Darla mentally prepared for the assault force likely about to come barging through the office doors, Arte waiting for one of her 'guests' to spring over the table with a silenced pistol to finish the job they'd started with her brother.

Oddly enough, though he'd been considering the problem non-stop for the better part of a week in relative calm, it was in this moment as the world crashed in around him, Darla clawing for the gun strapped to her inner thigh, O'Brien shouting evac routes into his ear over the blu tooth, that John finally found the decision he'd been looking for. The option he'd never considered, but the only one that made any sense.

When two forced were squaring off, each of nearly identical strength and unflinching resolve, there were only two choices - destroy each other, or don't. He could choose not to fight.

John Connor, for once in his life, could choose peace.

"Wait." Holding his right hand up, palm outward, John halted Darla's motion before she sent them all spiraling past the point of no return. "We didn't come to fight."

"I find that hard to believe, Mr. Baum." Arte sighed, never more disappointed to have her suspicions confirmed. "You seem to be quite proficient at it."

John couldn't help but note that choosing peace would be much easier in situations where you didn't already want to kill the person. The human need for revenge was a powerful motivator, and Sarkissian's attitude wasn't helping ease it. Luckily for him, Darla stepped in before he had a chance to fire off his less than complimentary comeback.

"He is," The young soldier's voice carried an odd finality that managed to send a shiver down even Connor's spine, "Which is why you'd better believe if he wanted you dead, you would be gurgling on the floor instead of busting his balls."

"Cole!" John barked, but the tiny smirk taking up residence at the corner of his mouth told her he knew she was just playing Bad Cop to his suddenly diplomatic change of plans. The woman was a lot of things, but slow on the uptake wasn't one of them. "Like I said, we didn't come to fight. Something tells me that you don't want to keep watching the body count rise any more than I do, especially considering it's been pretty heavily weighted towards your side.."

Arte shook her head a bit in Darla's direction, "This infantile need Americans have to boast and beat their chests makes it exceedingly difficult to deal with you."

"Yeah, yeah," Connor rolled his hand impatiently, more than a little aware of where they were sitting at the moment and the danger of remaining too long. "We're arrogant and cocky and you're condescending and creepy - now can we move on or do you wanna rehash the entire plot of Rocky IV?"

The older woman quirked a painstakingly plucked eyebrow, "What?"

"For God's sake..." John turned pleadingly to Cole, "Is there ever a time in my life when people understand my more colorful references?"

"I'm afraid it just kinda goes down hill from here, sir." Darla could only shake her head, "But you're a real trooper about it. You just keep trying, and trying, and _trying_..."

"Fantastic." Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help but grumble a bit. "When we get back, I am so instituting a movie night."

Arte frowned, spreading her hands wide, "Am I interrupting you two?"

"Wow." John eyed her skeptically, "Now who's being arrogant?"

"Really." Darla shook her head, "I thought this was supposed to be a friendly conversation?"

"We're not friends." Arte forced the words passed pursed lips, "You killed my brother!"

For the first time, the casual air John was trying to cultivate slipped a bit, a concerted frown taking up residence on his face. "I don't deny that... but I'm guessing it's a lot less black and white than you think."

The older woman practically growled, "Murder tends to be pretty clear cut, Mr. Baum."

"It is." John agreed, a steel filling his eyes that sent Arte squirming backwards a bit in her chair. "I heard your brother loud and clear when he almost killed my wife."

"Believe it or not," Connor commented almost rhetorically, "Even after everything he'd done, I still regretted having to kill him. When you live the life I do, you spend a lot of time trying to figure out what if anything separates you from the guy standing across the battlefield from you, and in the end, I guess that's really all I can offer you explanation-wise."

"We didn't fire the first shot in this little war." Pinching the bridge of his nose, John let out a weary sigh, "Our only mistake was being stupid enough to try to do business with your brother. And make no mistake Arte, when he tried to kill my wife, when he tried to kill my mother, that is all it was for him -_ business_."

Drumming the fingers of his right hand idly across the cool wood of the desktop, he could only shrug, "Your family fights for money, it's not for me but I can at least understand it. I was fighting to save my family."

"Three years later, Arte, and only one thing has changed. I'm still fighting for my family," John tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards the General direction he assumed Cameron's sniper perch was, "But there's no profit in revenge."

Though noticeably deflated by her guest's little speech, the fire in the older woman's eyes was still clear for all to see, "Is there a point to this little meeting?"

"Yeah." Suddenly, all of the warmth, all of the regret, all of the _humanity_ seemed to drain from John in the space of an instant, eying the woman across the desk like he was sizing up a potential attacker. "Walk away. I don't care if your father's goons want to take over the entire fucking hemisphere, it's not my problem. But if you insist on trying to come into my house and hurt my people... I will bury you and everyone you know."

Rising from his seat, John lifted the receiver from the phone and tossed it into the woman's lap. "You call daddy, you tell him I was here and what I had to say."

Darla falling into step beside him automatically, John didn't bother looking back over his shoulder. "And you tell him that this is the difference between us."

"I could have killed you, Arte." Opening the door for Cole, John couldn't help but fix Sarkissian with his snarkiest smirk, "But _I _know when to walk away."

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 10th, 2011  
2312 hrs

The sleek black sedan drifted down the incline into the underground parking structure of the airport hotel they'd been staying in since their arrival, John never having been more relieved to get off the road in his entire life. Pulling into the closest available spot with a weary sigh, he popped the clutch, tossed the shifter into neutral, and yanked the parking brake up with a little more force than was necessary.

Considering the way the day had gone, John really should have been in a better mood, but he felt like shit. From the moment the elevator doors had opened, he'd felt like he was another person, along for a ride he had no control over. It hadn't occurred to him that the focus and clarity he'd been experiencing were the result of the massive adrenaline rush associated with walking into a life or death situation.

Well, it hadn't occurred until he'd been standing in the hotel room changing his clothes and he'd crashed, all the symptoms he'd come to associate with post-battle aftermath had gripped him in the space of a second. The shaking hands, the tunnel vision, and the lead weights that seemed to settle on to his limbs dragging him towards the bed.

He'd been considering a nap when the scout teams had come barreling into the hotel room after him, swirling with questions about the sudden change of plans. Cameron had obviously worked up quite a head of steam over him turning his radio off, John wondering what part of her thought it was healthy for the entire squad to hear him arguing with a subordinate, knowing she was only angry because it had been Cole with him in the building.

It was kind of ironic - she used to be the one constantly trying to reinforce that their friendship and her job to protect him were two separate issues. Now though, Cameron seemed to be missing the distinction between John the husband and John the General. It's not like he'd been worried about her overhearing anything, and if she'd been thinking rationally, she would have understood that.

Unfortunately for everyone, John had about as much time to resolve personality conflicts as he had to sleep at the moment, his admittedly seat of the pants solution requiring a whole new strategy.

John Connor may have seen the light and made a play for peace, but he was neither stupid nor naive, embracing an axiom the East and West had found useful for more than fifty years - trust... but verify.

He had extended the olive branch, that didn't mean he was ready to lay down arms and hope for the Unity Parade to come rolling up the block. So, he had dispatched two-man observation teams to observe the more visible cogs of Sarkissian's operation for any obvious signs of mobilization on their part, he and Cole spending the day traveling between the various sites to make their own determinations.

Cameron had put in a call to Weaver asking her and John Henry to keep an eye on any comm traffic coming out of Sarkissian's HQ, but they hadn't heard back from the liquid metal terminator in nearly eight hours, so he was forced to assume she'd turned up nothing more than they had. If the General was mobilizing his people for battle, it didn't include the security forces in his HQ, or around his three primary distribution points, locations housing both his legitimate shipping operations and his under the counter black market dealings.

With their flight back to the US scheduled for 0955 the next morning, John was actually allowing himself to believe that his adversary had decided to let the issue rest for the time being. Though he was still convinced Sarkissian would eventually go back to trying to kill him, all he needed was for the man to leave him alone until the bombs dropped, and since the good General had no idea Judgment Day was around the corner, it only made sense he would bide his time and rebuild his forces.

At least that's what John was hoping for. Because if this guy decided to push the issue, if he decided to make a play to end this while he had the opportunity, John's only option was to remove the kid gloves and level the fucker.

"Stop worrying." Darla's dramatic eye-roll was enough to pull him out of his funk at least momentarily, "You did good today."

John couldn't help but smirk, "Funny, don't remember asking for your opinion."

"Nice." Cole chuckled, making a show of checking her watch, "Only took you twelve hours to turn that around on me."

"Would have thought you'd be reading me the riot act with the rest of 'em."

"Naw." Shoving her bangs out of her eyes, Darla shook her head. "You didn't take my advice, sure, but neither did he most of the time. You thought outside the box Johnny, and you handed us the best chance for survival you could. You were right - these people aren't Skynet, there's no law saying we can't call it even and walk our separate ways."

Bouncing her shoulder off his playfully, her smile nearly split her face, "I wasn't tellin' you that you had to do exactly what I wanted you to, just do _something_, because that's what makes you Connor. Those other fucks? Those Generals that almost drove us over the cliff into extinction? They were _thinkers_."

"They sat in their bunkers and stared at their maps and contemplated the differences between the kind of war they knew, and the kind of war Skynet was planning to fight while their species was being eradicated around them. But you, Johnny? You knew that every moment Skynet was allowed to catch it's breath was a moment it was gaining strength and we were losing it. They will always be able to build machines faster than we can birth people, which means you can never let up, you can never sit by and observe John. You understood that then."

She smiled reassuringly, "Just wanted to make sure you understood it now too."

"So," John chuckled, "Was that General Connor enough for you?"

"Are you kidding? I thought Miss Siberian Winter over there was about to shit herself," Cole nodded along, both laughing. "I don't think anyone has ever talked to her like that in her entire life. When you told her to call daddy I almost pissed my pantsuit!"

John bowed as far as the seat and wheel would allow, "That was pretty good, wasn't it?"

"You were channeling old school Connor on that one Johnny," Darla assured him, "Now go knock one out and get some sleep."

He shook his head, turning to step out of the car when Darla's words suddenly caught up with him, stopping with one foot out the door. "Huh?"

"What?" Cole eyed him skeptically, "Oh come on Johnny, you married her, didn't you? No shame in it anymore, go upstairs and get rid of your shakes."

"I...," Not even sure where to start with that, John looked down at his traitorous hand, only too happy to prove her assertions. "I'm... I'm fine, Darla. Probably because I haven't eaten tonight."

"No, you're Connor." Stepping out of her side with an amiable smile, Darla shut her door, "That keyed up feeling, Johnny? That thing you keep thinking you'll get used to eventually? That's just you. You might not have wanted a fight today, but you expected one, and now you feel like you're about to crawl out of your own skin."

"You're like me Johnny." Shaking out her hair with a smile, she headed off for the elevators, "Fight or fuck, you gotta get it out of your system some time."

Despite the weird trip the conversation had taken near the end, the trip up to the suite was silent and uneventful, John too fucking exhausted and preoccupied to even attempt polite banter along the way. But that was one of the things he liked about working with Cole, she was the only Resistance fighter he'd met who knew exactly when to shut the hell up and when it was in her best interest to push a point. You just had to get used to the fact the woman was completely bereft of a tact filter.

After exchanging tired nods at the crossroads to their respective rooms, John radioed O'Brien to make sure one last time her team had observed no enemy movement before switching the unit off and tossing it into a pocket. Flipping his wrist over and checking the time, he couldn't help but smirk a bit. Not at the time, which told him he was likely to get less than six hours sleep before starting fresh, but considering just how much he'd been shaped by not just the soldiers from the future, but his uncle as well.

Derek had repeatedly insisted he wear his watch on the underside of his wrist, a habit which had left John at a loss until the first time he and Cameron had practiced 'escape and evasion'. Turns out that when a cyborg is tossing you around the room like a rag-doll it's pretty easy to shatter a watch facing outwards and ruin it, which could really suck if, you know, there was a bomb set to detonate at a specific time in the building you're trying to escape.

Little things like that could save your ass, and he was grateful for every advantage they'd provided him, in many ways their intel and training even more valuable to than simply having another rifle around when the shit hit the fan.

John could feel his brows quirk up unconsciously at the lack of light spilling out from under the bottom of the door and into the darkened hallway. As she made sure to remind everyone but him on a regular basis - Cameron didn't sleep, which meant their light was always on unless he was down for the night.

Assuming his wife was simply tied up finalizing the prep for their departure the following morning, John shouldered through the door with a yawn, knocking it closed behind him with the heel of his foot. Having totally forgotten where the light-switch was in this particular hotel room, he was forced to navigate by memory, and considering he couldn't even remember where the fucking light-switch was, John was less than enthusiastic about the chances of that working out in a positive fashion. Luckily for his toes he hadn't removed his boots yet, or the glancing blow off the dresser along the way would have been decidedly more unpleasant.

Having finally located the dresser by means of 'fall the fuck into it', he set about what had become his nightly routine back at the compound. Slipping the Colt from it's place at the small of his back and double-checking the safety by touch, he slid it onto the hard wood beside his wallet, watch, and the keys to the rental car. His mother's training was hard to break, and he remained in the firm habit of leaving everything he might need in the same spot just in case he had to make a break for it.

Three steps backwards and his legs impacted the foot of the bed, John allowed himself to slump back onto the softness of the comforter, leaning forward with a groan to unlace his boots. A few months back, the feeling of a weight shifting across the bed in the darkness would have sent him springing for his sidearm, but this John just smiled tiredly when the familiar scent of his wife's shampoo washed over him from behind, her dainty hands following a second behind to knead the muscles along his shoulders. "Hey babe."

"Babe?" Cameron's hands paused in their gentle ministrations, even from behind him John could picture the cute little crinkle running along her forehead in her confusion, causing him to smile unconsciously. "I don't understand."

Finally undoing the laces of his right boot, John kicked it off with a shrug, "I was thinking earlier, we're married now, It's kind of beyond time for us to have pet names for each other, right?"

"But, babe?" John's shoulders shook with quiet laughter when he felt her hair brushing his neck as she vigorously shook her head, "I'm not an infant, John. Infants are loud, disruptive, and are often offensive to olfact..."

"Okay." Once he'd finished unlacing his other boot, he just held his hands up in surrender while toeing it over to join it's partner. "Point taken, no 'babe'."

"Good." Leaning forward to drop a quick kiss on the back of his neck, he could feel her lips curve up into a smile, "Arms up."

Normally, John would have made a few digs about the fact he already had a mother, but tonight he was just tired enough to make an exception, tossing his arms up beside his head so Cameron could pull his t-shirt off. "What about honey?"

The darkness meant he couldn't see the roll of her eyes, but that didn't stop Cameron from doing it while she placed both hands firmly on his shoulders and guided John up to the head of the bed, laying him face down on the pillows, straddling his legs and lowering herself as gently as possible until she was sitting on his ass. "My data says that a pet-name should reflect the person it's meant to refer to."

Though he'd been too tired to put up a fight, when he suddenly found himself face-down on a pillow with Cameron's not exactly slight frame settling down on his back, still above the covers, he had to admit he was curious. "Um... Cameron?"

"Relax." He could practically see the smile on her face as she gently pushed his head back down onto the pillow. Only she could take a word like 'relax' and make it sound like an order to take cover.

"If you say so," John mumbled into the pillows, finally settling on turning his head to the right so he could speak clearly, "Sweety?"

"How is that any better than honey?" John's reply was stifled into a long, low groan of pleasure as Cameron set to work on his lower back. Her small, impossibly strong hands locating every single spot of tension and terminating them with extreme prejudice. Cameron couldn't help but smile, "What was that, John?"

"Dun care," Oddly enough, despite his mouth now being freed up, the mumbling seemed to be getting worse. "Jusss dun stop."

"I wasn't planning to." She commented dryly, sliding her body up his back so she could reach his shoulders freely.

Letting his eyes drift closed, John lost himself in the feeling of her cool hands gliding up and down his spine, soon joined by the tickling sensation of her hair when she had to lean further forward to rub his upper arms. His mind and body were both on the path to Jello-land, that is, until the Cameron shifted her weight just right and the feeling of her silky nightgown was replaced by the equally smooth feeling of his wife's bare ass rubbing up his lower back.

Not that he didn't appreciate the sensation, but Cameron always wore underwear to bed, unless they were having... _oh_.

"Cameron." Trying to lift his head proved as fruitless this time as it had the last, Cameron gently but insistently pushing it back down onto the pillow. "I really appreciate the effort, I do, and I know I've been a little..."

"Shhhh." Rolling him over as easily as John could have flipped an infant, he found his wife smiling down at him from under the curtain of her hair. "I know you're tired. You've been tired for days."

Any logical thought he'd been reaching for stopped just about the time her tongue slipped passed his lips the same hands that had just laid sensual waste to his back running down his chest and over his randomly contracting abs with obvious intent. By the time she pulled back with what could only described as a wicked grin, Jello had given way liquid mercury, entirely focused on the flowing along with the feeling of her tiny hands as they made short work of his pants and boxers, "It's okay John, let me take care of you."

John thought he remembered nodding, but for all he knew flaming midgets could have been trying to wave off landing C-47's at the foot of the bed, pretty much all higher brain functions rendered fruitless as his wife kissed slowly down his chest and stomach, those lovely, expressive eyes trained on him the entire way down.

Well, he assumed it was the entire way down, he didn't actually have visual confirmation seeing as how his head had lolled uncontrolled back onto the pillow, his hands fisting the comforter at his sides while he tried desperately to suppress any sounds the men sleeping in the rooms along the hall might overhear.

As always, Cameron attacked her task with a single-minded determination, and again, as always, John had never stood a snowball's chance in hell. In the space of a few short minutes John was biting the inside of his cheek almost comically to keep from alerting the others while fireworks exploded inside his head.

Seeing how busy John was gasping for breath and staring glassy-eyed up at the ceiling, Cameron pulled his boxers back into place for him, the movement just enough to bring her husband's attention back to the present.

Eyes finally managing to uncross themselves, he caught sight of his wife sitting beside his legs down the bed, working her tongue around her mouth with obvious distaste. That was, until she noticed him looking and the beaming smile was back full force as she crawled up his length and settled into her customary spot at his side, pulling the covers up over them and dropping a kiss on his cheek.

Oddly enough, John found himself right back where he'd been a minute before, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, while doubts he thought he'd left behind began surfacing full force again. But he didn't need to look to know his hand had stopped shaking.

_"You're like me Johnny." Shaking out her hair with a smile, Darla headed off for the elevators, "Fight or fuck, you gotta get it out of your system some time."_

Easily picking up John's steadily increasing heartbeat, Cameron pivoted a bit so she could look up at him, "John?"

He didn't speak for a long time, when he did, his eyes never deviated from the ceiling. "You've never done that before."

It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact, one Cameron honestly didn't know how to respond to. "You didn't like it?"

"I just..." John cut himself off, searching for words that seemed to be escaping him. Finally, he settled on something that while not profound, was at least pithy, "Why?"

It was Cameron's turn to frown. "You... seemed like you needed it."

Rachel had assured her that men found this activity to be intensely pleasurable, but... perhaps she's done it wrong? Still, he could have at least appreciated her effort. She was well aware she didn't measure up to a human female in certain areas, which was the very reason she had been working with her friend to compensate - for John's benefit. He had taken the time to learn the differences between them, and how to bring out feelings in her neither of them had known she was capable of having, she had simply been trying to reciprocate.

Disappointed, confused, and more than a little hurt, Cameron couldn't fight the admittedly childish urge that caused her to roll as far away from him as the bed allowed, curling up and pulling the covers up to her neck with a pout. If John was no longer comforted by her presence, she wouldn't inflict it on him any longer. Letting out a small huff of annoyance, she stared resolutely at the alarm clock beside the bed as the minutes ticked by.

She had been planning to resume her customary patrol as soon as John had fallen asleep, but found that plan had two major flaws. First, it had now been more than forty-five minutes and John still had yet to either fall asleep or even relax his breathing. Second, she... didn't want to leave.

It was oddly disconcerting for the cyborg to experience. After sexual activity with John, even in the beginning when he hadn't always been able to bring her to climax, she had enjoyed a feeling of contentment following the act. A wholeness. Despite the fact John had obviously achieved his release, Cameron did not feel in the least bit content. In fact, if asked to describe her current mood, her pop-up thesaurus assured her 'miserable' would be the most applicable human facsimile.

Even more confusing to her was the fact that John, who had always drifted off to sleep immediately after achieving release was still wide awake, apparently as unhappy with the state of things as she was. None of it made sense to her, and all she knew for sure was that she wanted her John.

"John?" Cameron's voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make John jerk a bit after nearly an hour of silence.

Voice taut and raspy, John tried his best to put on the brave face. "Yeah Cam?"

Not moving from her spot at the edge of the bed, Cameron glanced back over her shoulder at her husband. "I'm... cold."

A strange flurry of emotions chased themselves across John's face while he continued to stare up at the ceiling for a long moment, jaw grinding in time with his thoughts. Just when she was about to give up hope, he shoved aside the resigned sadness gripping his heart, nodded once, and shifted across the bed to snuggle up behind her, wrapping an arm around her stomach and pulling her to him. "It's alright."

"Stay as long as you need to, Cameron." Leaning up to drop a kiss on the side of her face, John was irrationally pleased when she chose to wiggle back into him, in typical Cameron fashion seeking the maximum amount of physical contact. Stifling a yawn, he brushed a few strands of errant hair back behind her ear idly. "I've got you."

Not trusting herself to reply right away, Cameron spent the next five point three one minutes trying to sort out her conflicting emotions, eventually settling for closing her eyes and letting John's scent, his breath, the beat of his heart, drive off the doubt she'd been feeling. Despite all that happened, all that would ever happen between them, she supposed it would turn out alright so long as the end of the day found her lying in bed next to her John.

She would have told John that too, if he hadn't fallen asleep within eighty seconds of pulling her into his arms.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note - As always, huge thank you to everyone who takes the time to review the story, it really makes it worth the time spent in the writing process. Huge shout-out to my beta Bigbew, who is the best there is in this, or any other, universe.  
Hope the long chapter makes up for the long wait, let me know what you think.


	25. Chapter 25

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 25/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 08/13/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 25 - 'Intervention'

* * *

Tashir, Armenia  
10 Miles South of the Armenia/Georgia Border  
March 11th, 2011  
2113 hrs

_A storm is coming._

It was probably an odd thing to notice, as it were, dangling upside down in the driver's seat of a totally wrecked German sedan, the only sounds reaching John through the smashed windows the steadily increasing wind and the drip, drip, drip, of the car's lifeblood seeping out onto some random highway in the North of Armenia. In his defense, the dull gray of the cloud-filled sky was the first thing he'd been able to make out when coming to, and it seemed fitting that on top of everything else this day had thrown at him, it would start raining now.

Currently supporting the dead weight of a 180 pound man, the lap belt was pulled too tight for John to release the catch, his steadily stiffening shoulder giving him no end to grief as he tried to reach up, or what would normally have been 'up', to disconnect the strap from the door jam. Finally locating the little red button of freedom was a short-lived victory, as all it accomplished was dropping him three feet onto his skull, the lights flashing behind his eyes while the world resumed it's odd tilting motions.

He tried to activate his radio, but the ear piece was long gone in the crash, most likely smashed beyond repair anyways. Letting slip a long groan rooted more in frustration than pain, which the adrenaline was still doing a passable job of making sure he wasn't feeling, John shoved himself through the mounds of crystallized safety glass littering the roof of the vehicle, wrenching first one shoulder, then the other out through the passenger side window, the driver's side crumpled so badly he never could have maneuvered his bulk through it.

Hissing as his lower stomach dragged across a jagged outcropping of rent steel, fresh blood pooling from the new wound, he shoved himself the last few feet and out onto the glass-covered highway, rolling onto his back and drawing deep breaths of the invigorating night air. "Urgh...great idea, John."

"Tried to walk away, but nooooooo." Pausing only to spit out a bit of accumulated blood, John chuckled, grimaced. "Dammit, I liked that car!"

Half shoving/half rolling into a sitting position, John ran a critical eye over the wrecked Mercedes, once confident it wasn't going to explode in the next few seconds, he leaned back against the cool metal with a sigh, only now allowing himself to do an inventory of his physical condition. Warm blood was steadily running down the left side of his face from a gash near his hairline, which made sense, the last thing he remembered was his skull bouncing off the steering wheel as the gray of the sky and the brown of the earth played spin-cycle around him.

The knee he'd originally injured falling off the side of a building during the Kruger Industrial fight was swelling quickly, stiffening up with every move he made, making the idea of a ten mile hike to the border that much less appealing. Not that John had any room to complain, it had after all been _his_ plan. In his defense, it had worked... mostly.

Smashing a gloved fist into the already cracked passenger side mirror, John dug around until he found a large enough piece of the reflective material, snatching it up and dusting it off on his pant leg before examining his face. Not much worse than usual, though there was significant swelling down the left side where his head had bounced off the car.

After frisbeeing the chunk of glass across the surface of the highway, John decided it was time to see just how screwed up his knee was, abandoning the relative comfort of the ground and shoving off the car and onto unsteady legs. A few stumbling steps found him leaning against a rear wheel well for support, trying to pry open the crumpled rear door to get at the bag of weapons in the back seat.

His Colt was long gone in the crash and he had ten miles of hostile country to cover before crossing the Georgian border to meet up with Weaver's people, and with any luck, his own. After all, this harebrained stunt was nothing more than a desperate bid to buy them the room to make the crossing anyways, the idea being it would be easier for a single person to slip through heightened security after the first group crashed the gate than an entire team.

Of course in his original version of the plan he'd still been in possession of a German luxury car capable of speeds in excess of 150 miles an hour. So, yeah ... improvisation would be necessary.

His patience giving way before the door, John smashed a steel-toed boot through the still remarkably intact window, reaching in to grab Cole's Army duffel.

John's hand froze six inches shy of it's destination though, the sound of crunching glass behind him followed by the unmistakable and never less welcome sound of a hammer cocking back, "Back out slowly, Mr. Baum."

Letting slip a long sigh through his nose, Connor rested his forehead against the sidewall of the tire with a frown, "Thought I killed you in the parking garage."

"I can understand why you would think this." Using the hand not holding his PM on the young man's back, Dimitri lifted his sweater to reveal his tactical vest, a tight grouping of four rounds clearly visible over his heart. "You have an impressive aim for one so young."

"Yeah, well...," Raising his hands slowly and backing up from the Mercedes, John turned around to regard the man sent to hunt him down. "I was highly motivated."

Dimitri smirked, "I should be displeased with you, you know. You killed the son of my only surviving friend, not to mention quite a few of my more trusted men."

"I know." Connor reached for the most wistful look he could summon giving the circumstances, "Good times."

"But to be honest," The assassin ran a hand through his blood-caked hair, smiling down at the smaller man, "This has been the most fun I've had in twenty years. They just don't make Americans like you anymore, Mr. Baum. They all want to _understand_ and empathize, to sit down with their enemies over a cold brewski. But you my young friend, you are like us. Not afraid to get your hands dirty. You understand that the outcome is more pressing than the method."

"If I thought like that," John glared at the man, "Arte Sarkissian would be burning beside her brother."

Dimitri just held up a single finger, shaking his head with a forced smile, "Mr. Baum, I should tell you, so that you don't waste your time: you can not make me angry."

It was John's turn to smirk, "Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that."

"Well, this was fun." Shaking his head, Dimitri shrugged out of his long coat, letting it fall to the ground at his feet along with his sidearm, leaving John to gawk incredulously. "But we should get down to business."

"You..." Glaring back and forth between the assassin and his discarded pistol, John screwed his face into a pointed frown. "You held me hostage with an empty gun?"

Dimitri chuckled, "You didn't ask."

Unzipping his own jacket and tossing it to the ground, John twisted his neck to the side sharply, an audible 'pop' echoing through the night air as he squared off against the larger man. "And I had such a good feeling about today..."

* * *

*15 Hours Earlier*  
Yerevan Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 11th, 2011  
0642 hrs

There she was, sitting on a tropical beach, sipping a fruity drink served up in the traditional coconut cup, tiny little umbrella fluttering in the breeze while a veritable stable of muscly cabana boys attended her every need, when Rachel's cell phone dragged her out of dream land and straight back to the Armenian winter. Tossing the rumpled covers off her head, Lorne shoved her bangs out of her eyes and tried to lean over the edge to retrieve the pants she'd been wearing the day before, which just so happened to have one glowing pocket while her second least favorite form of machine screamed at her in it's horrible digital soprano.

"I'm coming!" Having misjudged the height of her hotel bed, Rachel made contact with the floor a little harder than she'd intended. Army-crawling the last few feet she snatched her pants up with a sigh, yanking her cell phone out and flipping it open in the same motion, "This had better be good. I'm talking, 'we've just nuked Skynet and we're all having a barbecue' good. I was _this_ fucking close to finding out what Julio was packing under that Speedo when you..."

Two minutes later found the Corporal standing in front of Connor's bedroom door praying to every God she could think of the man was in a halfway decent mood. The amount of time it seemed to be taking to answer her knock didn't exactly bode well... if she'd woken him up, with this news, it wouldn't be pretty.

Rachel practically deflated with relief when Cameron answered the door, hastily tying off a mid-thigh length blue silk robe matching her nightgown. Lorne was pleased she'd taken her advice, and a little thrown off by how much older her friend looked in lingerie than her day-to-day clothing. Tucking a bit of errant hair back behind her ear, Cameron gave her that patented half-smile and nodded, "Did you need something?"

"Yeah." Frowning, Rachel pulled her right hand out from behind her back and offered the cyborg her cellphone. "Apparently Connor turned his off last night, Weaver's been trying to get a hold of him for the last hour."

Accepting the phone with a small shake of her head, Cameron stepped back into the room, motioning for her friend to follow. "Did she tell you what this is about?"

"Not so much," Lorne sighed, "But she might be a little... pissed off."

Pausing in front of the foot of the bed, Cameron pivoted on a dime, more than a little intimidating despite being two inches shorter than her friend without boots on, "What did you do?"

Rachel was just about to try out one of the excuses for her morning attitude she'd concocted on the way here when movement on the other side of the bed caught her attention and refused to let it go. Every other second John's head would pop up over the edge before dropping back down, causing the young woman's own head to tilt in an odd imitation of her best friend. "What the..."

Wandering around the edge of the bed with a quirked eyebrow, Lorne's shoulders sagged when her boss fell into full view. "Well, shit."

John smirked up from his position on the floor, never pausing in his morning sit-ups, "Problem, Lorne?"

"No sir." Rachel shook her head, "It's just that the reality is much less interesting than all the possibilities I had in my head before rounding the bed."

"Sorry to disappoint, Corporal." Connor's laugh had both women eying each other in surprise, "Phone."

Snatching the cell out of Cameron's extended hand with a shake of his head, John tucked it beside his head and resumed his sit-ups, "Connor."

Backing up slowly with the most suspicious look Cameron had ever seen on the woman, Rachel turned back to her friend, "What's up with him?"

Cameron frowned, obviously sharing her friend's confusion. "He's been like that since he woke up. He said he 'just had a good feeling about today'.

"O'Brien said he was _singing_ the other day." Rachel went a little goggle-eyed, "If he'd... snapped, we'd know, right?"

The cyborg nodded, "I assume there would be a difference. Increasingly strange behavior, detachment from reality, deviation from established personality traits."

"Wow. That sucks." Both women found their attention drawn back to John's phone conversation, "Thanks for the heads up, give me a call when you know more."

Snapping the phone shut and tossing it onto the bed, John rolled to his feet with a sigh, picking up the t-shirt he'd been wearing the day before off the dresser and using it to wipe the sweat off the back of his neck. "Sarkissian's been lighting up his contacts in local law enforcement all morning, Weaver's not sure what it means yet but she's asking us to stay put while she figures it out."

"Briefing in thirty kids, I'm grabbing a shower." Leaning in to drop a kiss on his wife's cheek, John headed off in the direction of the bathroom. Just as he was about to cross onto the tile he seemed to remember something, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk, "And... Lorne?"

Rachel frowned pointedly, squaring her shoulders. "Yessir?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't use the 'c' word on my allies," Shaking his head, John kicked the door shut behind him, hollering, "Just a thought!"

Lorne gawked at the door for a good thirty seconds, Cameron had pulled on her jeans and was buttoning her shirt by the time the soldier snapped out of it. "Why... why is my ass still intact?"

Cameron shrugged, trying to smooth down the front of her shirt with a frown - John's packing skills left a lot to be desired and many of her garments had become wrinkled, including her favorite purple button-up. Tucking her M9 into the back of her pants with a huff at her husband's inattention to detail, she turned back to her friend, "He appears to be in a better mood this morning."

"Well, obviously." Rachel snorted, scratching the back of her neck with a smile, "You still look all mopey though. You're not still on that 'John doesn't love me' kick, are you? Cause he seems fine."

"I think he still cares for me." Cameron paused, shaking her head, "I know he still cares for me. He fell asleep eighty seconds after cuddling me. It's just..."

"Cameron, if what I saw was any indication, the guy is ready to run a marathon." Rachel snorted, "Gotta level with you, not seeing the problem here."

"His body appeared to enjoy the 'hummer' as you described it, but afterwords he seemed distant again...he didn't even touch me." Cameron frowned, hugging herself like she was cold while glancing towards the bathroom door.

Lorne considered her words for a moment before responding, "Maybe he was just surprised. You said you've never done it before, right?"

Cameron eyed her accusingly, "It was my understanding that most males are delighted by the action. _You_ told me so."

The Corporal looked torn between compassion, defensiveness, and the obvious humor of the whole situation from her perspective. "Cameron, he seemed plenty delighted to me just now."

"I don't understand." Pausing, Cameron's face screwed up in obvious confusion, "He enjoyed the contact with me, but he didn't cuddle me until I asked him to."

Rachel couldn't help but laugh at that, earning a glare from her friend. "So... he's a guy. I think we knew that already."

The cyborg shook her head vigorously, insisting, "But my John isn't like that, he always likes to be close to me."

"He's an incredibly tactile creature, even for a human." There was an unmistakable fondness in her voice, replaced by doubt when she turned back to Rachel. "Maybe I did it wrong? It certainly didn't taste very pleasant."

"No, that part is pretty normal." Lorne shrugged, "Probably shoulda warned you about that, my bad. There really isn't a way to do it wrong honey, did you remember what I said about too much teeth?"

"Yes," Cameron assured her, "He didn't cry out in pain so I'm assuming I didn't injure him. Perhaps something else is bothering him. All my data indicates he still enjoys sexual interactions with me."

Rachel was starting to feel like they were talking in circles, "Cameron, you know John better than anyone. What do _you_ think is bothering him?"

She only had to consider the question for a second before responding, "I think the situation with his mother is bothering him. He's concerned about her, he's worried about losing her. I heard him talking in his sleep, he believes she hates him."

The Corporal nodded, "John... the General, didn't talk about her much. If he's worried about her, then it's nothing you've done Cameron. One thing that will never change about Connor, he blames himself for everything."

"Perhaps he's worried about not having her around to be a mother to be him." Cameron postulated, "It's my understanding that adolescent males still rely heavily on their mothers."

"Ummm," Rachel chuckled softly while holding up Cameron's left hand and motioning to the wedding band, "That usually stops about the time this happens."

Cameron smiled, head tilting to the side as she considered her best friend's advice. Before she had a chance to respond though, John made his way in from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist while he used another to dry his short-cropped hair. "Um, Lorne?"

Rachel was back on her feet in a second, shoulders squaring unconsciously, "Yessir?"

"I vaguely remember telling you to pass the word about a briefing." John rolled his eyes, turning his attention towards his bag beside the bed in search of clean clothes, "And I'm about to put on pants. So, unless you want this to get weird..."

"Understood sir." Smirking at her friend, Lorne slapped Cameron on the back and bounded out of her CO's room before she caught sight of anything awkward, slamming the door hard enough to make John wince.

"Gear up babe." Letting the towel drop and tugging on a fresh pair of boxers, John motioned to the bag of weapons Cole had left in his room the day before. "One of Weaver's subsidiaries has an airfield in Southern Georgia."

Cameron frowned slightly, having thought she'd made her position on 'babe' clear last night. Deciding to let it slide this time she set about emptying the Army duffel onto the bedspread, checking and loading their small arsenal. "Would it not make more sense to head south? The Turkish border isn't far."

"The Turkish/Armenian border is still patrolled by the Russians." John shook his head, "Not stirring up that hornet's nest. Wouldn't you much rather take on the Armenian Border Guard if we're forced to fight?"

The cyborg's head tilted a fraction to the side, a small smile gracing her face. She liked it when John thought of eventualities she hadn't, it proved just how far he'd come in the past few years. "Agreed."

Pulling a black t-shirt down over his head, John picked up one of the tactical vests from the bed and stepped up in front of a clearly confused Cameron. "I had Cole pick up one for you too."

"A vest is unnecessary." Cameron frowned, eying the desert-pattern flack jacket. "And it doesn't match my jeans."

"Neither do bullet holes. If I have to wear one, so do you." Shaking his head in amusement, John slapped the Velcro tabs into place for her before donning his own, "Besides, I don't have the good pliers with me."

* * *

Yerevan Armenia  
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton  
March 11th, 2011  
0720 hrs

"Quit it!"

"Wasn't my fault! Lorne pushed me!"

"Did not!"

"Hey Huey, is that your rifle I'm feeling or are you just happy to see me?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya?"

"Enough!" John would have glowered back over his shoulder at the assembled troops... if there had been enough room for him to accomplish that. Cameron had assured him the elevator would support their combined weight, but seven people in full combat gear, weapons loaded and at the ready, each with a bag of belongings over their shoulder, meant they barely had enough room to breathe, let alone move. "We've got ten more floors, you'll live!"

Connor grumbled, shifting uncomfortably as much as the limited space allowed. It may be cold as hell outside, but stuck in an elevator with six other human beings and a cyborg was bad enough without adding a tank-top, undershirt, tactical vest, shemagh, and leather jacket. Adjusting the strap on his G36A2 so it was digging into his shoulder instead of his neck, John was staring at the slowly descending numbers when suddenly the car came to an unexpected halt at the eleventh floor, the only sound accompanying the traditional 'ding' the eerie cricket imitation of half a dozen safeties slipping into 'rock and roll'.

Unable to level their rifles in such closed quarters, the doors opened on a group of heavily armed and rather sheepish looking Resistance fighters, John smiling sickly at the elderly couple gaping at them from the hallway. After an awkward pause, he raised a gloved hand from it's resting place on the stock of his G36 and waved slightly. "Ummm... going down?"

The man seemed to consider their request for a second, the incongruity of the scene apparently requiring a few moments to properly grasp, before shaking his head slowly, "I think we'll wait for the next one."

John covered a smirk, not really knowing what to do, he repeated his earlier wave. "Have a good one."

"Da..." The doors closed on the man's still shocked face, everyone in the elevator heaving a simultaneous breath of relief.

Cole shook her head, knocking her shoulder into Connor's, "Real smooth, Johnny."

The younger man glowered at her reflection in the mirrored surface of the wall, "I thought this was a private elevator?"

"That one opened up onto the lobby," Darla reminded him with a smirk, "You wanted to go straight to the parking garage to avoid walking through the lobby looking like this, remember?"

Even Lorne snorted at that point, "Yeah, 'less conspicuous'. I definitely remember him saying that."

"I didn't exactly..." John sighed, drumming his fingertips idly over the butt of his rifle, "Just... shut up."

"You _did_ say that John." Cameron reminded him gently, a smile tugging at the very corner of her lips, leaning in a few inches so only he could hear, "Quit being a freak."

He couldn't help but chuckle, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "They've got pretty much every cop in the city on their payroll and Weaver says they're watching the airport. I'm guessing they'll focus on the security gates and not the hotel, but what I guess and what happens don't always mesh quite as closely as I'd like."

Darla sighed, fingers drumming along the side of her SCAR-H in a fashion nearly identical to John. "Since when did criminals start going to the cops? I mean, killing is one thing, but to go and narc on us? That's low even for me."

"It's nice to know you have _some _standards, Cole." Lorne's dig brought a much-needed respite to a tense situation, even a few laughs escaping as they passed the first floor and into the garage levels.

Checking over his gear one last time, John pulled his bag a little higher on his shoulder, preparing to step out as soon as the doors parted. Fortunately for him, Cameron's hand on his side stalled his momentum just enough for him to look up before taking that step.

No one moved. No one breathed. No one wanted the fifty or so police officers congregated around their cars in the parking garage to notice them. Just as John was sure his luck had never been worse, a SWAT-style truck came to a screeching halt not two dozen yards from the elevator, disgorging eight men in tactical gear with sub machine-guns at the ready. The whole lot appeared to have just arrived, forming up to enter the airport and lock it down. It had never occurred to him the garage was likely the only place large enough for them to muster.

_Shit._

At least John knew that Weaver's intelligence was good. Dooley let out a small cough behind him, causing half of the elevator to cringe, "Um... boss? Plan?"

John froze just as surely as he had when the doors opened, staring out at more than fifty armed men. Sure, they were crooked. Sure, they were working for his enemy. But they were cops, human beings, and John's beef had never been with them. He'd been trying to save lives. He'd been trying to walk away...

Unfortunately, before his brain had hard-booted, one of the officers turned to light a cigarette, catching sight of the elevator full of armed and armored civilians. He hesitated in shock for just a moment before opening his mouth to scream for reinforcements.

Cole didn't hesitate.

Before John could even process what was going on, she'd fired a quick burst into the officer's chest, tossing him backwards onto the concrete still having never uttered a sound. Shifting the barrel of her rifle a few inches to the side, Darla lobbed an M203 into the side of the nearest police cruiser, the shockwave from the explosion in the confined garage knocking many of the surrounding police off their feet, shrapnel dropping a few permanently. "Kill 'em all!"

A hissing sound behind John's head was followed by two smoke grenades rolling out between his feet, quickly engulfing the area in a suffocating fog. Darla had already sprinted off to the left, darting between cars with practiced efficiency, pausing every few moments to drop any targets unfortunate enough to enter her kill zone.

Cameron paused only long enough to toss a nod to Lorne, "Get John to the vehicles!"

John was about to protest, but she'd already stepped out, flanking right and dragging as much fire as possible away from the confines of the narrow elevator and disappearing into the swirling smoke. A shove from behind knocked him through the doors, Rachel pushing his head down and practically dragging him towards where they'd parked a few rows down, hollering back over her shoulder at Carmack. "You heard the lady!"

"On it!" Dooley shrugged nonchalantly, he and Private O'Brien taking up position directly behind John, nearly shoulder to shoulder as they backed up in tandem, firing off bursts at any muzzle flash they caught sight of through the smoke and hoping it wasn't Cameron or Cole. Huey jogged a few steps in front of them all, ducking low whenever a vehicle offered cover and sprinting between the gaps, trying to hold fire and avoid drawing attention the the retreating General.

Another explosion rocked the garage, this one massive enough to send them all sprawling to the floor, the fireball spreading out across the ceiling before contracting back into gouts of thick black smoke.

"Holy shit!" Shaking some broken safety glass from his hair, John was the first back on his feet, dropping two of the armored police stumbling towards him on instinct. Gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the senseless slaughter, it was his turn to pull Lorne up by the tac vest. "What the hell was that?"

Dooley groaned, yanking himself back to his feet and reloading his rifle. "Man... they hit the fucking van!"

Well, John was forced to concede the point, it had been a pretty big explosion and that van had been more than a little packed with munitions. "God-dammit!"

"Alright!" Mind finally kicking into the proper gear, Connor rose up over the car he'd been crouched behind just long enough to knock off the son of a bitch who had just emptied half a magazine into the wall above his head. "New plan! Dooley, you're with me. The rest of you make your way over to that pillar with the red paint at the top and hold position, be ready for pickup!"

Lorne looked like she was about to argue when John snapped, "_Now_ soldier!"

No one hesitated after that, Carmack taking up position beside John and helping him cover the relocating squad with suppressive fire. Dropping back into cover to reload, Connor thumbed the receiver at his ear, "Cameron, copy!"

A few seconds passed, a shotgun clap from across the room telling him exactly what had his wife's undivided attention before her voice echoed in his ear. "Yes, John?"

"They slagged the van and I can't fit seven people in the Mercedes." Slapping home a fresh magazine and chambering the first round, he slipped back into position beside Carmack, eyes moving in perfect parallel to his G36A2's barrel. "Think you can commandeer that SWAT van?"

Easily peering through the haze with her thermal sensors, Cameron nodded before slamming another police officer head-first into the nearest car. She was well aware of John's feelings on excessive collateral damage, and besides, she _was_ wearing her vest. "No problem."

"Great, get on it." Most of the assembled police who were still able to seemed to be fleeing by this point, the Resistance fighters more than happy to let them go. Unfortunately, their reprieve was short-lived.

A horrific screech off to the right was the only warning Connor had before the massive black Hummer emerged from the smoke and slammed directly into the car he and Dooley had been using for cover. Throwing an arm around the soldier, John barely managed to shove them both out of the way as the much heavier vehicle crushed them into the wall. Despite racking the back of his skull on the concrete, John was back on his feet just as the driver's side door opened, the most massive son of a bitch he'd ever seen stumbling out from behind the wheel.

John didn't hesitate this time, ignoring the rifle he'd dropped during the crash, he pulled the Colt from his thigh holster and put four rounds right over the man's heart before he had a chance to level his Uzi, sending him reeling back into the side of the truck, sliding down to the ground and going still. Helping Pvt. Carmack back to his feet, John shook his head, "Guess that's what happens when you bring a car to a gun fight. Cover their six until Cameron pulls the truck around, then get the hell out of here!"

Still shaking his head from the impact, Dooley frowned pointedly, "And what are you gonna be doing?"

"This is a getaway, remember?" Shoving the soldier's FAL back into his hands, John's smirk told him all he needed to know, "I'm not leaving my car."

The soldier could only sigh as his boss darted off between the rows, ducking low and disappearing into the smoke. "Man... his wife is gonna kill me."

Lorne and company hadn't seen signs of hostiles since the late arrivals had come barreling into the garage in their unmarked vehicles, Huey and O'Brien crouched nearby covering the other approaches. Headlights suddenly illuminated the thinning smoke in front of her, causing Rachel to level her rifle in preparation for another wave of attackers.

Luckily, Cameron could see her friend's reaction through the smoke and thought it best to radio ahead, "It's me Rachel, let me pull past and you can load in the rear."

Lowering her rifle as the SWAT van cruised by, Rachel fired a relieved smile in O'Brien's direction, "Evac's here kids. Lets move!"

Stepping up to the back and throwing open the doors, Lorne covered their six while O'Brien, Hendrix, and then Dooley clambered up and into the van. Grabbing onto the handle and leveraging herself up onto the rear bumper, she was just about to duck into the door when a gunshot clapped out from behind, the impact of the bullet slamming into the back of her vest tossing her face-first into the rear, knocking her off balance and sending the Corporal tumbling to the concrete.

Trying to force breath into stunned lungs, Rachel rolled onto her back, hands splaying out to the sides and frantically searching for her dropped weapon. It was too late though, she knew it was. The man emerged from the wispy smoke behind them, pistol trained squarely on her forehead, trigger finger already beginning to tense.

Refusing to close her eyes, Rachel just glared defiantly up at the son of a bitch, knowing her face would be the last thing he ever saw when Cameron got a hold of him. But when the shot came, the lights didn't go out.

The bullet went wide right, ricocheting off the back of the truck while the man's gun hand flapped uselessly, the only reason he hadn't collapsed the forearm under his chin, his once white shirt quickly turning to red as his lifeblood poured from the thin line drawn across his throat and soaking his chest.

Cole just calmly wiped the blue-black blade of her KA-BAR off on the man's shoulder before shoving him face-first to the ground, stepping over the still twitching body with the faintest smirk and making her way to passenger side door. "You owe me, Lorne."

Pulling herself back to her feet and collecting her rifle with a groan, Rachel could only shake her head while climbing into back and slamming the door behind her. "Cocky bitch..."

Cameron's head poked through the gap and into the back, "Where is John?"

"Ummm..." Lorne could only shrug helplessly, "He was with Carmack."

Dooley sighed, not at all liking the look the cyborg was shooting him. "Hey! I was just following orders, he told me to cover Lorne and then get in the van."

"So." Cameron glowered, "No one knows where John is?"

Before anyone could answer, the sound of an engine revving up directly beside the truck had Cameron glancing out the window to see a smiling John behind the wheel of his rented Mercedes, activating his radio just as he slammed the vehicle into gear. "I've had about enough of this country. Lets get to the evac site Cameron."

"You can follow me." The wheels spun, smoke billowed, then the treads caught and the car practically lept up the ramp and out of the garage, her husband's voice ringing in her ear, "But you'll have to keep up!"

* * *

Tashir, Armenia  
10 Miles South of the Armenia/Georgia Border  
March 11th, 2011  
2100 hrs

John growled, slamming his fist into steering wheel as the vehicle came into view behind him. The same black Hummer, he was sure of it, mainly because of the damage to the front end and the massive streak of red paint left over from when it had tried to crush him into a wall.

Nearly the entire way through the country, flying as fast as the SWAT van's top speed allowed, without a single problem only to be chased down within ten miles of the border! Considering the lack of helicopters and flashing lights, John had a sneaking suspicion this was one of Sarkissian's mercs sent to finish the job.

Thumbing his radio onto the squad frequency, John let out a weary sigh, "We've got company. Someone trailed us all the way from the fucking airport."

"I don't get it." Cole broke across the channel, "Why hasn't he made a move?"

The wheels clicked into place in John's head, painting a picture he didn't want to deal with. "They're working with the cops! Fuck!"

Cameron frowned, "Of course, we knew that John."

"You don't understand Cam," John glared into the rear-view at the truck slowly closing in on them, "This is why they didn't follow us."

In the passenger seat beside the cyborg, Darla groaned, "This is not good, Johnny."

Losing her patience much faster than her best friend, Lorne stuck her head between the women from the back, "Can we skip the shorthand and just explain what in the hell you two are talking about?"

"They knew it would be a run and gun all the way to the border," Cole clarified, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily, "Why risk it? Have one of Sarkissian's men tail us in an unmarked car, radio ahead when we get near the border."

John broke across the line, "It's a safe bet he's already contacted them, if we try to cross here they'll tear these cars apart before we get within two hundred yards."

"Okay," Rachel frowned, wishing now she hadn't asked, "It's not like they've got a wall around the country though, right? We just off-road a bit, cross the border a few miles down."

"Yeah," John agreed, "But that only works if our tail isn't around to ruin the plan again."

Cameron nodded, already preparing to turn the truck around, "I'll take care of it."

"No you won't." The grim tone of Connor's voice sent a chill racing down the squad's collective spine. "Get my people to the plane Cameron, I'll meet you all there."

Surprisingly enough, it was Cole who broke the silence, "What the hell are you thinking Johnny? We're not just gonna leave you..."

"You're not. It'll be easier for one person to crash the border than seven if my car gets knocked out." Checking his rifle and setting it aside in the passenger seat, John glanced up into the rear-view with a small smile, "This guy is mine."

Understanding that tone all too well, Darla simply nodded and fell back into her seat with a frown, "Good hunting, Johnny."

Cameron on the other hand was anything but resigned, shaking her head furiously, "You can't go back there by yourself. We can..."

"No Cameron." John sighed, willing his wife to understand why he had to do this. "You break it, you buy it, alright? I fucked this up, let me make it right. I'll see you at the plane, I promise."

In the passenger seat, Darla could practically believe her eyes, the cyborg beside her looked like she was about to burst into tears, "John, don't make me do this. I have to protec..."

"Hey." There was a long silence while Connor picked the right words, finally settling for short and sweet. "Do you trust me?"

Cameron didn't even hesitate, "Yes."

John just nodded to himself, tossing a small salute in the direction of the van in front of him, "Then I'll see you in Georgia."

A horrendous screech assaulted them all from behind as he pulled the car's emergency brake, turning into the spin just enough to get the car going the other way before releasing the brake handle and slamming the car back into gear, gunning it in the direction of their pursuer.

Switching off his radio, he was relieved to see the van, now in his rear-view, killing it's headlights and swerving off the highway. "That's my girl. Get 'em home."

The Hummer was closing quickly, though whoever was driving appeared to be hesitating, unsure of just that their quarry had planned. John's grin spread as he shoved the accelerator to the floor, rolling the driver's window down as the needle ramped upwards of ninety miles an hour.

"Lets do this."

* * *

Tashir, Armenia  
10 Miles South of the Armenia/Georgia Border  
March 11th, 2011  
2121 hrs

Forward, backward, up and over, the world pivoting on an odd axis, just enough time for John's adrenaline-fueled brain to register that at least the cool breeze accompanying his short flight was soothing as it wafted across the white-hot skin of his increasingly battered upper body, only to be brought kicking and screaming back into the present as his back collided with the crumpled side of Dimitri's Jeep, sections of rent and jagged metal gouging straight through his shirt and into the skin below.

The battle was not going well.

Derek had often accused him of being too cocky, too sure in his own abilities, but John was in many ways his own harshest critic. It hadn't taken long once the soldiers moved in and he had a chance to observe their training on a regular basis that he'd understood how much he had left to learn, and he'd spent the majority of the last year doing exactly that. But he'd been training to fight Skynet, not human beings with decades of experience killing their own kind.

He'd gone into the fight knowing it would be difficult, but figured any disadvantage he had in size would be balanced out by his superior speed, mobility, and the endurance only youth could provide. Turns out, speed doesn't matter a whole lot when a guy can take every fucking punch you throw at him and smile back. The last ten minutes reminded John of nothing more than a recurring nightmare he'd had for a long time after Cyberdine, of trying to fend off a T-800 endoskeleton with nothing but his fists.

Dimitri didn't even deign to block anything that wasn't an attack on a critical area, instead allowing John's punches to land, and using the opportunity to grapple him, throwing him into the nearest solid object. The old soldier's face was a bloody mess, but each landed combo just seemed to piss him off more, and the next time he threw John just a little bit further, and a little bit harder.

At least Connor was getting a good taste of variety, so far he'd been bounced off both wrecked vehicles, a light pole, a concrete highway divider, and the street itself, which was probably the most fun considering the way most of the chunks of safety glass he'd landed on were still embedded in the skin of his back.

Yanking himself up by the Jeep's roll-bar with a long grunt, John shifted his weight onto the side of the vehicle, trying to force air into lungs encased by God knows how many bruised and broken ribs.

"This is good...as you say, ummm.. metaphor!" Dimitri paused in his relentless pursuit long enough to spit out a mouthful of accumulated blood, "Is it not, Mr. Baum? Americans, always holding on to hope until the bitter end. Always so sure of the inevitable triumph of truth, justice, and... forgive me, I always forget the third one. You should be proud, you and your men have done remarkable things, but I'm afraid you're fighting a war you've already lost."

John grunted, hearing the inevitable footfalls closing in on him again, an object in the back of the Jeep catching his eye at exactly the right moment, Derek's sage advice echoing in his ears - _A fair fight is one you walk away from_. A wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around cool metal just as the mercenary spun him around by the shoulder.

"Yeah," This time John threw every ounce of his weight into his right arm, the tire iron clutched in his hand clipping the larger man right across the side of the skull and sending him to the asphalt for the first time in the fight. "I get that a lot."

Dimitri was on his back, one hand propping up his upper body while the other tried to staunch the flow of fresh blood oozing from the side of his head. "_Der'mo_!"

"That didn't sound complimentary." Closing the distance towards his hobbled foe as quickly as he could drag his inured leg behind him, John twirled the tire iron with a wry smile, "Wouldn't be getting angry, would you?"

"_Mudak_!" Letting slip a low growl, the mercenary rolled over onto his stomach, shoving off the ground and barreling directly towards the younger man with arms outstretched.

Fortunately for John, he'd long since learned his lesson about letting the massive son of a bitch within striking distance. He stood stock still, shoulders squared, until his adversary was less than five feet in front of him, head down with a full head of steam. John bounced onto his good leg at the last possible second, tucking into a tight spin that would have made even Cameron proud, bringing the tire iron down on the back of the man's skull with everything he had.

Dimitri had far too much momentum built up to stop, the added force of John's attack sending him crashing face-down onto the asphalt, skidding to a stop just shy of the upside down Mercedes. Connor himself wasn't immune from the impact, unable to steady his fall with his injured leg, his semi-graceful spin ended with a stumbling face-plant, the tire iron skidding across the highway in the process.

Even before he'd had a second to gather his breath, Dimitri was stirring again, dragging himself up the side of the car in front of him. "You have got to be... come on!"

Forcing himself to his own feet just a little bit faster, it was John's turn to embrace his anger, forcing his right leg to function the few steps he needed to build up steam, slamming full force into the larger man's back and crushing his face into the side of the car. He was still trying to right himself from the impact when an elbow shot out, catching him just in front of the ear and sending John right back to the asphalt with his ears ringing.

Dimitri merely grunted while stumbling back from the car, "I've had enough of you, Mr. Baum."

John had barely made it back to his hands and knees when a steel-toed boot slammed into his unprotected flank, first once, then twice, raining down blow after blow, his ribs screaming out in protest while every ounce of breath in his lungs rushed out through his nose and mouth, refusing to return. Catching sight of the tire iron just a few feet out of reach, he began dragging himself across the highway towards the bent and bloodied piece of steel. By this point, all he could feel was pain and... wet.

Blood was matting his hair, mixing with sweat and running in rivulets into his eyes and down his face. Cold sweat mixed with warm blood across most of his body, the sting of their mixing long overshadowed by the throbbing in his chest and the desperation of what had literally become a fight for survival. His right knee was so swollen he couldn't bend it or come close to putting proper weight on it, leaving the job of dragging his broken ass across the ground to nothing more than the clawing fingers of his uninjured right hand and whatever leverage he could get off his left knee.

The fact his opponent probably had a blood clot in his brain that would either kill him or leave him a vegetable in the next 24 hours was little solice when he'd be functioning for plenty of time to kill you slowly, painfully, in the interim. Considering Dimitri's current mood, that was exactly what John was expecting. Which _sucked_.

Not that he was going to die, not even that he believed he didn't deserve it, a good part of himself had felt that way for a long time already. It was the fact that he'd spent his whole life learning to fight Skynet, to save humanity from the machines, only to bite it on some forgotten military highway in a shithole most people had never even heard of.

Just wasn't fitting, in his admittedly biased opinion.

The sound of approaching rotor blades dashed any last bit of hope John had about getting out of here alive, from the intensity the chopper was already nearly on top of them, undoubtedly carrying Armenian Border Guard bought and paid for by Sarkissian. Of course, Dimitri waited until his fingertips were mere inches away from the tire iron before stomping on his wrist, John refusing to give the man more than a stifled groan as the bones mashed together under the pressure.

Obviously displeased with his adversary's suddenly Spartan facade, Dimitri wrapped one meaty fist around John's throat, hefting him from the ground like most people would lift a bag of groceries and slamming him into the side of the smashed luxury sedan so hard the upside down vehicle slid a good foot across the asphalt.

"Fuck!" John spit the word, swinging his good arm with everything he had left and crushing the larger man's nose into his face. Dimitri just smiled, shaking his head slightly in obvious amusement before slamming him repeatedly into the car at his back. The third impact finally garnered the mercenary's desired result, John crying out in agony as a rent section of metal pierced the back of his thigh down to the bone, snapping clean off the frame in the process.

"So?" Holding the squirming young man up just high enough for his boots to be dangling in midair, Dimitri eyed him curiously, using his free hand to wipe some of the accumulated blood from his brow. "Not the brave American Superman after all?"

Beyond caring about the pain, beyond caring about his destiny, all John could think about was wiping that smug fucking smile off Dimitri's face before he died. _Small victories_...

The laugh he managed to force out sounded more like a wheeze even to his own ears, but it was enough to give the man about to finish him off pause, the fingers of John's right hand slowly drifting down between his body and the car. The jagged edge of the sheet metal embedded in his thigh was easy enough to locate, John trying to cover the inevitable grimace as he wrapped his fingers around it and began to pull with one last smart-ass taunt, after all, it's what Dimitri was expecting. "I... was born... in Mexico... dickwad!"

"Well, in that case," Dimitri bowed his head a bit, catching sight of the way his prey's eyes were rolling back into his head from pain, he was determined to finish the man off before he lost consciousness. He wanted to see the fear in his eyes. "Buenas noches, Mr. Baum."

John suddenly howled in pain, his body arching forward and shoving both men a stumbling step away from the car, causing Dimitri to pause just a second in surprise.

"Hey... asshole." Lifting cloudy eyes towards the man still clutching his throat, John's lips pulled up the barest fraction at the corner, an unconscious trait he'd picked up from his wife. "My name is Connor!"

His right hand lashed out, the whoosh of movement, the glint of bloody steel, as he drove the jagged piece of sheet metal into the gap between Dimitri's shoulder and neck. He tore a large section of his own palm and fingers on the shard in the process, but he managed to jam it in far enough he was confident the man would never get it out without pliers.

The mercenary clawed feebly at the wound, blood pooling up around the edges until it had completely obscured the gleaming metal. Apparently realizing there was no way to get it out with his hands, Dimitri let out a roar, grabbing John by the shoulders slamming him down onto the hood of the car with enough force to rattle his molars.

Staring up at the darkened sky, the flashing lights of the hovering helicopter, the thrumming of the whirling blades drowned out by the ringing in his ears, John watched helplessly as his enemy prepared to finish the job.

In moments like these, the world seems to slow down to a crawl, reality becoming crystal clear in a way you honestly wish it wouldn't. The strobes of the landing lights blinking away, the rotor blades whooshing by in slow succession, the purple streak dropping down from the open door on the side, the... _wait, what_?

The car beneath him shuddered violently, the back end smashing down into the pavement with a thunderous crash and only further rattling John's skull against the metal of the hood. But in that moment, it was all worth it, because standing not five feet from his head, still crouching slightly from the impact of a thirty-five foot drop, was his wife. And she looked _pissed_.

Cameron didn't make a sound as she stomped across the fallen car directly towards the stunned and reeling Dimitri, easily hopping over her husband's prone form and closing the distance between herself and the mercenary. She may look like a normal teenage girl, but Dimitri wasn't stupid, and simple fact she'd survived that jump without so much as a limp told Dimitri there was nothing normal about her.

Picking up the tire-iron John had used against him earlier, he waited until the girl was just outside her own range before swinging away, the weapon crashing into her cheek with everything the mercenary had left. All he got for his trouble was a resounding 'clang' and a vibration so strong it forced him to drop his only form of defense.

Turning her head slowly back towards him, Cameron looked up at the man towering over her, eyes flashing red in a way they hadn't in a very long time. "My turn."

Every move was precise, every blow perfectly planned and meticulously executed, every injury inflicted in a way to maximize pain and minimize the chance her target would lose consciousness. She started on his legs, as it would be inefficient to have to chase her quarry around the area. Hobbling her prey with a swift kick to the right femur, shattering the bone like a human would snap a twig.

She wanted this man to feel every bit of pain he'd inflicted on her husband. Cameron might not have been here to protect him, but she was here in time to avenge him, so that was exactly what she did.

Only when the sheer weight of broken bones and ruptured organs threatened to finally render the mercenary unconscious did she finish him, breaking his neck with a twist of his wrist and letting him crash limply to the ground. Cameron stood there for a long moment, staring down at her bloody hands and trying to figure out what had come over her just now.

There had been no logical reason to inflict such bodily injury to the man, to drag the fight out as long as she had, yet as soon as she'd caught sight of John's battered and bloody face, she'd known without a doubt that was exactly how she was going to kill him. It hadn't been a conscious decision, it had been far more akin to a compulsion, reminding her for a frightening moment of the terminate orders that had once caused her to nearly kill her John.

"Cameron!" The chopper had barely touched down when Lorne hopped off the runner, ducking low to avoid the blades as she jogged across the ground towards her friend. "It's pretty freaking likely they caught us on radar when we crossed back over the border, we've gotta get back before we cause an international incident!"

Nodding numbly, the cyborg cast one last glance over the crumpled form of the man she'd just killed, pivoting on a heel and walking back towards her husband.

For his part, John was drifting in and out of consciousness, having slid down off the hood and propped himself up against the remains of the front bumper. Cameron drifted into his field of vision, blood marring her face and clothes, a deep gash across her right cheek revealing the gleaming metal beneath, the faintest hint of glowing red still tinging her eyes.

He tensed a bit when she kneeled down beside him, her fingertips ghosting over the bruises on his face before settling on his pulse point at his neck. "You'll be alright, John."

"Why wouldn't I be?" John smirked, grimacing when it stretched the skin of his face, "I'm having a great day."

"Of course you are boss." Shaking her head, Darla stepped up to his side, shouldering her SCAR-H and motioning to Dooley to help her. "We've gotta go, like yesterday. The radio in the bird has been screaming at us in Russian for the last three minutes."

"Well that's not very polite of it." John groaned as he was leveraged up and slung between the soldiers' shoulders, at least able to trudge along with them when they started shambling towards the helicopter.

Ignoring her General's ramblings, Darla glanced back over her shoulder towards Cameron, "How is he?"

"He should be alright." Cameron's voice was barely above a whisper, "No signs of significant brain trauma, his breathing remains unimpaired."

Even before the words were completely out of her mouth, John had slumped between the two soldiers supporting him, his head lolling back and forth, the toes of his boots now dragging across the asphalt. Hauling him the last few yards to the waiting bird, Darla and Dooley waited while Cameron climbed into the chopper before handing their General up to her and climbing in after.

Cameron shifted John down onto the bench beside her, laying his head down onto her lap as gently as possible before motioning to Huey to dust off with a quick swirl of her fingers.

Cole had barely closed the door when they were airborne, shredding air straight for the Georgian border, Huey hugging the ground as close as safety allowed in an effort to stay under the local radar ceiling. Shaking her head, the operator walked over to the couple, holding a bundle out in Cameron's direction. "He lost this."

Accepting the battered leather jacket with a forced smile, Cameron draped it over her husband's form and began running her fingers gently through his hair. "Thank you."

Nodding once, Cole stepped back and took up her seat across the aisle from them, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back and closing her eyes, only now that Connor was safe would they allow themselves to relax.

Cameron was still staring off into space when Rachel dropped down onto the bench beside her, popping open a first aid kit and eying her friend with a small smile, "Lets get you fixed up, Cameron."

"No." The cyborg shook her head, absolutely unwilling to tend to herself when John was in so much pain.

"Don't be ridiculous." Rachel frowned, "These people may work for Weaver, but I doubt they've seen a cyborg before. We should stitch your cheek and cover it up."

Eyes still locked forward, Cameron snagged her friend's hand before it got anywhere near her wound, "No."

"Cameron." Letting out a small sigh, the Corporal took her hand and placed it gently back onto her husband's hair, "He would want you fixed up. You know that."

Cameron seemed to consider the young woman's words for a long moment, eyes finally darting down to her John's face for a split second before returning to the wall. Without a word she inclined her head a few inches to the side to give Rachel easier access to her face, an appreciative smile just barely slipping through.

Just as her friend began to thread the needle, Lieutenant Hendrix's voice came on over the P.A. and drained the last of the tension from the air, "Well folks, seems we've just crossed the border into Georgia. We should be at the airfield within the next fifteen minutes."

Glancing down at the man curled against her, Cameron stroked his cheek gently, "It's alright John. We're going home."

* * *

T.B.C

Thanks as always to everyone who takes the time to review, it really makes the effort put into writing this worthwhile.

Huge thank you to my beta Bigbew for helping with this like you wouldn't believe and practically Army-carrying me through a bout of writer's block. Hope the length of the chapter was worth the wait, let me know what you think.


	26. Chapter 26

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 26/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 09/07/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

* * *

Chapter 26 - 'Cost of Doing Business'

Unlisted Flight, Commercial Designation 220A  
Somewhere Over Eastern Europe  
March 12th, 2011  
0018 hrs

John Connor had come to understand a lot about what made a man a soldier over the past year. He'd trained. He'd conditioned. He'd learned to care for his kit like it was the only thing between him and death... because frankly, it was.

One thing he had yet to reckon with though, was the absolute party that is battlefield medicine, something he could have gone a lifetime without and never missed.

There was nothing quite like being dragged back to a drug-fogged consciousness by the feeling of your medic knuckle deep in the back of your thigh trying to dig out metal fragments before sealing the wound. Light flashing, people shouting as pain tears through you, eyes and faces staring down at you with that pity you just want to clean off them.

"He's coming to!" O'Brien's sea-blue eyes shot wide as soon as she caught sight of Connor's now open and darting around wildly, placing a calming hand on his chest while trying desperately to speed up the process with the fingers currently lodged in the back of his thigh. "You've got to stay still, sir."

John could swear that her fingernail had just grazed his bone, causing his eyes to roll back into his head and his body to jerk up off the floor reflexively. "GRAH! Stop!"

"Dammit!" Amanda looked around frantically. As capable as she was as a scout sniper, she was only five-foot five and a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, not exactly the best person to try and physically restrain a man twice her size with Connor's strength and training. "Someone hold him down, now! John, if you keep moving you're going to tear the wound and I don't have plasma on board!"

All John could concentrate on was trying not to bite through his tongue, mind vaguely wondering how he was staying conscious at all.

Private Carmack was there a second later, tossing his boss an apologetic smile while pinning his shoulders to the floor with his hands, "Work quick, he's really pissed off!"

"Er, duh!" O'Brien shook her head, ignoring the few wisps of red hair the action caused to escape her ponytail, "I've got two fingers in him dumbass."

"Really?" Dooley's smirk was down-right infuriating, "Cause in my experience, most people like..."

"If you finish that sentence," Lorne interjected from off to the side, reaching for a stern look and failing miserably in the attempt. "I'm gonna have to brain you."

Ignoring the man's mouthed 'fuck you' pointedly, Rachel grimaced looking down at John, who at least seemed to be zoning out by this point. "Can't you give him something stronger for the pain?"

"I wish." Finally catching hold of the inch-long sliver of steel, O'Brien turned it a few degrees until the jagged edges were free of the side, then eased it out of John's leg as quickly as possible, tossing it to the floor with a 'clink'. "There we go, boss. All done."

Running a towel over the blood obscuring the wound, Amanda snatched up the nearby needle and thread and prepared to seal the damage. "He's got one hell of a concussion, Rae. If I give him anything stronger he might not come to the next time we have to wake him up."

"Connor's a big boy now." Cole agreed from a few feet down the bench, not even bothering to open her eyes from her quick catnap, "He can take it."

* * *

Grey Flight  
Yevren Armenia  
25,000 Feet  
March 12th, 2011  
0213 hrs

Glancing up from his screen with a weary sigh, rubbing the tension from the back of his neck having become a futile exercise somewhere along the third hour of his stationary patrol, Airman Tucker signaled for his supervisor to make his way over. "Think I've got eyes on our target, sir."

"Hm." Making his way over from another drone operator's station with a distracted nod, Major Clark stepped up behind the younger man and eyed the greenish screen from behind his glasses, "Oh, right, did we get confirmation from Raptor Flight?"

"Yes, sir." Tucker nodded, pointing idly to his readout, "Raptor flight has confirmed three of the suspected weapons depots listed in the intel we received this morning from Captain Perry's team. We've confirmed this cell has been in recent contact with the homegrown terror cell he's been chasing down, we've got stills of a few of this guy Sarkissian's men from the attack on Zvartnots International yesterday."

"And we've confirmed the presence of the target?"

The younger man nodded again, "Whole damn convoy rolled up to his Corporate HQ fifteen minutes ago, sir. Picked him up, appears they're headed for the airport. We've got frantic activity at all three distribution centers, seems he knows the game is up and is trying to pack up shop."

"Can't have that." Shaking his head with a small smile, Major Clark activated his headset, "Grey Flight, you are weapons free, engage all targets designated in your mission profiles at your discretion."

Turning back to his screen with his own smile, returning his headset to it's proper place, Airman Tucker scrolled through a few keys to magnify and clean the image streamed to him from the electronics package on his MQ-9 Reaper half a world away. Locking target onto the armored limo he'd seen Sarkissian climb into just minutes before, he zoomed back out to monitor the line of vehicles tearing ass through the center of town, biding his time, as always conscious of the ROE and civilian casualties.

Also conscious of the fact his supervisor was still hovering over his shoulder, Tucker contained his excitement at the rare opportunity of going weapons free - but to be fair, they'd busted this asshole in the process of like seventeen treaty violations, and apparently even key figures in the Russian Federation wanted him dealt with. Just goes to show why you never crossed Striker Logistics in general, or Catherine Weaver in particular. The woman had connections. The fact Perry's intel had arrived when it did, confirming all of the woman's claims, was practically too good to be true. Stars didn't just line up like this every day, and their job was almost never this easy, nor this clear-cut.

Catching sight of the lead vehicles turning onto a one-lane freeway on-ramp, he toggled the safety off his flight stick. "Grey Three, Fox Two."

The missile was little more than a white-tailed streak rising from the bottom left of his screen slightly before streaking downwards at speeds fast enough to snap a man's neck in two seconds flat. The missile cam popped up in the upper right hand corner, a bracketed image of the limo growing ever larger with a Time To Impact number scrolling down from twenty-five seconds.

Apparently, the Airman's timing was better than average that day, his ordnance striking the target just seconds before it merged onto the highway, destroying it and most of the convoy, the on-ramp collapsing onto the ground below, but leaving the civilian vehicles just meters away relatively untouched. Well, not counting shattered windows and anyone unfortunate enough to have a heart condition.

Pulling back to admire his handiwork, Tucker finally let himself indulge in that smile, "Tango down, sir. No movement."

"Fantastic, Airman." Slapping the younger man on the back, Clark was already moving down the line, other tasks and other interests needing to be dealt with. "Do a final camera sweep and bring her on home."

"Yes, sir." Rolling his neck before resuming his customary hunched position, Tucker did one last sweep of the wreckage, sending a few stills off to the boys in intel before calling it a day. One mission, one missile, one less terrorist.

No, not a bad day at all.

Pulling up Sarkissian's file with a few deft keystrokes, Tucker inputted the only word that ever made one of these guy's jackets easier to stomach: Deceased.

Forwarding the file to the boys at Langley, he plotted a quick course back to base, where he was sure he'd pick up another bird on hot standby and do it all again. The man may be dead, but he had an extensive network in-country, and the Russians weren't too keen on the idea of a black-market swap-meet this close to Chechnya. They'd be cleaning this one up for a while yet.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 12th, 2011  
1643hrs

"Hey mom." John offered up the best smile he could muster, stretching gashes along his lips and face nearly to the breaking point in the process as Carmack and Coons leveraged him out of the back of the SUV. "It's good to see you're... better."

He probably would have scratched the back of his head nervously had his uninjured arm not been wrapped around Cole's shoulders for support.

"Yeah." Sarah agreed with a frown, all the anger and seething resentment she'd managed to build up during his absence suddenly outweighed by her natural instinct at seeing her son so badly injured. "I'm much better now."

"Good to hear it." Obviously hoping to get the hell out of their before either of their masks faltered, the younger Connor nodded once before mumbling something to Cole about checking in with Austin about some project and stumbling down the path towards the work shed supported by the smaller soldier, Carmack not about to look a gift horse in the mouth darted off to spend some time with Private Coons before dinner.

Sensing the absolute shitstorm coming, Derek stepped up beside Sarah with a resigned sigh, looking for all the world like a referee called into a game on his day off.

"You can go inside, Reese."

Casting a glance from Sarah to the cyborg rounding the back of the car with two massive Army duffels slung over her shoulders, Derek just shook his head. "No... I can't."

"Suit yourself." Clicking her tongue once and making sure her son was well out of ear-shot, Sarah stepped into Cameron's personal space without hesitation. "What the hell happened to him?"

Surprising both of the humans more than either wanted to let on, Cameron simply glowered at them as if waiting for Sarah to step out of her path, an anger in her eyes neither was accustomed to seeing expressed so openly.

"Hey!" Bouncing out from behind the car, obviously not having heard the older woman's question, Corporal Lorne came to a halt beside her friend. "What's shakin', LT?"

Derek just shook his head quickly in the universal military equivalent of 'not now', Rachel's subsequent frown and look to Sarah proving she'd picked up on it. Not quite sure what to do with herself, Lorne yanked her stocking cap off and started fiddling with the strap of her pack idly, only belatedly greeting Sarah at all, "Um, ma'am."

"Corporal." The older Connor mimicked her son's earlier curt nod so perfectly Lorne had no trouble imagining where he'd picked it up, "What the hell happened to John?"

Rachel's frown deepened when she realized the reason for the vicious look on her best friend's face, there was no _way_ they were going to hang this one on Cameron's shoulders. "Why don't you ask him? It was his plan."

Tilting her head slightly, Sarah skewered the other women with a glare, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he _ordered_ us to leave him behind." Wrapping a hand around Cameron's upper arm, she made it three steps towards the barracks when the word she'd been dreading cut the air like a knife.

"Corporal!"

Trying to keep her flinch from being little more than mental, Lorne calmly released her friend's arm and spun smartly on her heel, cursing every God she'd ever heard of that Connor had commissioned his mother an officer. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Closing the distance between them in a few short steps, Sarah's voice was barely above a whisper yet more threatening than anything Lorne had ever heard come from her mouth before, each word it's own accusation. "You. Left. Him. Behind?"

"Yes ma'am." Rachel didn't even hesitate, "General ordered us to make for the evac point, we followed that order."

She even braved a small smirk, "It's what we're good at, ma'am."

Realizing she was getting nowhere fast with Lorne, Sarah efficiently swiveled both barrels of her righteous anger towards her son's girlfriend, "You allowed this?"

Cameron nodded almost meekly, "I did."

"If he'd have given you that order last week, you would have ignored him." Sarah growled, "As you should have. You would have knocked him out and dragged him home if necessary, but you would have kept him safe. You tell me how you could have allowed that to happen to him!"

The cyborg looked utterly exasperated, expecting Sarah of all people to understand, "I don't allow John to do anything."

"You told me I could trust you to keep him safe!" Sarah shook her head in frustration, followed up with a classic Connor sneer, "You back to lying again?"

"No. I'm not lying to you." Rather than looking hurt by the accusation, Cameron seemed to be getting even more angry, "I trust John. Why don't you?"

Tilting her head in a predatory fashion, Sarah leaned a bit further into the cyborg's personal space, "You're a machine, so why don't you answer this nice and...logically."

"You 'trusted' him this time, Cameron," The sneer returned full-force, "What was the result?"

"I trusted him to do what he thought he needed to do to ensure the safety of those under his command." Cameron shook her head slowly, not at all understanding how or why she'd become the target of her mother-in-law's wrath over John's injuries. "He got hurt. Future John did that a lot, he was hurt often too."

Sarah just held her gaze for a long moment while trying not to deflate, logically unable to refute the argument but absolutely unwilling to let go of her anger, turning a fraction to address Lorne, "How bad is it?"

Rachel shrugged, wondering why she'd ask her rather than the cyborg with a medical text in her CPU. "Concussion, bruised ribs, gashes, road rash, and Cameron about ripped him a new asshole for getting himself mangled."

"So..." Supplied with the ammunition she needed to continue, Sarah pivoted right back to her target, "Was it worth it? To prove that you trust him?"

"I don't need to prove it to him." Though she'd hoped this would come out in a slightly more diplomatic fashion, Sarah's continued intransigence as well as her own rising anger meant Cameron took more than a little pleasure in the sickly look her next words elicted, "A marriage is based on trust. John explained the concept to me thoroughly."

"A... mar.." The only word capable of describing the look on Sarah Connor's face was 'shell-shocked', the gleaming ring on Cameron's left hand standing out too clearly to be denied. Still... "John wouldn't get married without telling me."

"Sarah..." Cameron actually looked a bit sympathetic, knowing knowledge of the 'treatment' she'd received at Weaver's hands was still a fresh wound. "He's done a lot of things without telling you."

A whole myriad of emotions raced across Sarah's face, disbelief, anger, nausea, anger again, eventually settling on the closest thing to her neutral mask she could muster at the moment. "He... married you?"

Cameron extended her hand a bit hesitantly, as if the other woman might try to snatch the ring from it. "On a beach during a sunset. We've been married eight days, seventeen hours, eleven minutes, twenty-three seconds."

Sarah blanched noticeably, "I thought it was just sex..."

"We have that too." Cameron insisted, pulling her hand back with a huff, "Not that it's any of your concern."

Lorne's snort had everyone glancing in her direction and the poor Corporal trying to remember why she hadn't retreated as soon as Sarah had forgotten about her.

But by now most of the anger had long drained out of Sarah, replaced by the resignation and exhausted sadness she'd become so used to over the past few weeks. "You really think you can be a good wife to my son?"

Cameron's hesitation spoke volumes to her best friend about the problems she and John had been having, but Cameron steadfastly refused to address. In the end though, there was a determined gleam to her eye when she nodded to her new mother-in-law, "I know I can."

Sarah however, wasn't about to let the cyborg knock this one up to a victory, shaking her head as if washing her hands of the whole thing, "They'll never accept this, and you know that."

Glaring at no one in particular, Sarah ground out the words, "Especially after Judgment Day."

Seeing her friend's shoulders tensing visibly, Lorne swept in before someone could say something they couldn't take back. "Come on, Cameron."

The elder Connor looked like she was about to object, possibly pulling rank again, but Rachel cut her off with a full-proof argument she planned on employing often to deflect the older woman in the coming days. _I'll see your Lieutenant and raise you a General_. "Lets get you settled in so you can check on your husband."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 12th, 2011  
1706hrs

Darla could feel a wetness spreading along her flank where John was pressed up against her, one of the larger gouges along his ribs obviously having reopened in their trek across the compound. Having been trained the way she had, and understanding Connor as well as she tried to, Cole knew full well why he was pushing himself.

He'd been embarrassed in front of the men, beaten, made human, and on top of it all, saved by his wife. After the initial pain to be expected while O'Brien stabilized him, John had slept for nearly sixteen hours, only waking up for his hourly checkup to make sure the concussion didn't leave him in a coma.

As long as she'd known him, in the future and the past, Connor had always been restless. He hated being laid up, hated being coddled even more, and always seemed like he was trying to prove something by pushing himself even harder than what he expected from his soldiers.

Most of all though, she imagined seeing his mother up and about had thrown him for a loop and John just needed a few minutes to himself to sort his mind out, the fact he needed to bring someone along to keep him upright a sad necessity he was apparently willing to endure for the sake of fresh air and a little quiet. If he wanted to pretend his destination was the barracks, Darla would play along until his physical state forced her to reevaluate.

Rolling her eyes, she tried to break the silence with the closest thing a Resistance fighter had to small talk, "I think you're bleeding on me. How you doin' over there?"

"Sick of this cold." Letting out a sigh that had nothing to do with the weather, John shook his head, "It's too bad the bombs drop before spring. Would have been nice to see one more."

"Yeah." Not quite sure where in the hell Connor's mind was at the moment, Darla eyed him wearily, "It's always cold in the future."

John chuckled to himself, nearly covering a grimace before she noticed, "Body heat helps. I honestly don't know how you guys survive out in that barracks at night."

"Well, we can either snuggle up like Coons and shit for brains, or we just throw on more blankets." Cole's smile grew as she bounced her hip off John's, "Considering what guys like Dooley call a personality, I find myself more partial to option two. Although, given the right company..."

"Company helps." The younger man agreed, only vaguely focused on the conversation as he stared off into the sparse woodland surrounding the property. He couldn't help but try to visualize what it would all look like in a month's time, "Sometimes I think the only reason Cameron keeps me around is that I'm an 'efficient space-heater'."

Cole just snorted quietly, trying and failing to keep her less than complimentary opinion of the cyborg from showing, "Like she gets cold..."

"Huh? She does." John mumbled distractedly, coming to a halt along the path to catch his breath, knee finally starting to remind him how badly it was still swollen. "At night, you know? Metal bones, Darla, skin temperature drops pretty steadily during the winter if I don't hold her."

"Wow." Was pretty much the only thing Cole could think to say to that. Connor wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type, and this was sending shivers down her spine, "She really has you wrapped around her little metal pinky, doesn't she?"

"Why?" Turning back to the older soldier, John looked genuinely confused, like even he wasn't sure how he was supposed to be acting anymore. "Because I don't like her to be uncomfortable? I guess you'd be more comfortable if I was an asshole _all_ the time?"

"No," Darla conceded, "but it wouldn't hurt to butch up a bit with her, loverboy. She's not the fragile little flower you seem hellbent on protecting."

"You, on the other hand," She motioned to her superior with an exasperated expression, "Are all too fucking human, Johnny."

John shook his head, frowning pointedly, "She's not as tough as you think she is. Not...," he pointed idly to his head, "Not here."

"Frankly Darla, I'd expect you of all people to understand that." Beaten, bleeding, strung-out, and about six kicks to the head past caring, Connor could only shrug a bit helplessly, "As fucked up as it is, you're probably the closest thing I have to a friend around here. The only person outside my family who isn't afraid to look me in the eye, and I wish you'd just take a minute to try to understand why it is I would marry her, if there wasn't something special about her."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in a habit he'd picked up from his mother, he made one last attempt to get the point across, "She gets lonely and worried, sad and cold, just like you and I do. You and I have had a lifetime to understand our feelings and impulses and we have millions of years of ingrained impulses guiding us. Cameron doesn't have the luxury of any of that."

"So yes, sometimes she's a bit... different," John conceded with a small smile. "Sometimes she needs a little bit of help along the way, but not everyone is good at everything."

"Believe me," He assured her with a sly smile and a good-natured shoulder bump, "I've seen you walk in high heels."

Even Darla had to fight a smile, "Watch it, Johnny."

"Look," Deciding to bring it down to his friend's no-bullshit level for a minute, John broke it down as succinctly as he could, "Intellectually, Cameron is smarter than all of us put together with Einstein batting cleanup. Emotionally, it's a lot more complicated. She understands what she's supposed to feel, but doesn't have much experience actually feeling it. It's all new to her, and you have to be willing to cut her some slack and give her room to figure it out for herself."

"She's my wife, Darla." Turning back to the soldier, John nodded side to side as much as the cricks in his neck would allow. "When and how I choose to protect her is my business. You have no reason to hate her, she's never done anything to you."

Grinding her jaw at the words she'd known would come eventually, but still never actually expected to come from Connor's mouth, Darla glowered, "It's not what she's done, Johnny, it's what she _is_. No amount of crying or shivering can change that she's a..."

"A what?" John snapped, meeting Cole's glare with one of his own, "A killer? You mean like _us_?"

He shook his head in utter exasperation, "That's why we hate them, Darla. Because deep down, we believe we're the only race on this planet with the right to do what we do. When I lie, cheat, and kill to survive, it makes me a hero. When they do it, it makes them an evil to be annihilated."

"I'm not saying we should bow to them. I'm not saying we should lay down and die. I'm not even saying we need to try and understand them." John sighed, weariness forcing him to lean back against a tree along the path, "I'm just saying it's time we stopped pretending we're any better than them."

Despite her anger at him, Darla couldn't help but feel responsibly for the suddenly forlorn look on her boss's face, "Johnny..."

"Sometimes... sometimes I think we're worse, you know?" Connor admitted sadly, the real reason for his depression finally overtaking the embarrassment of the incident itself, "Because we know right from wrong. We have a moral compass... we just don't listen to it."

It was Cole's turn to shake her head vehemently, "Don't do that. Just don't. You did what you had to do to survive."

"Yeah," John snorted, totally without humor, "I'm really good at surviving."

"In the long run, they'll be thankful for that." The fanatic was back, the one that seemed to make friendship between them so difficult sometimes, "Without you Johnny, they're _all_ dead. Some die now, so others can live later. It's not fun, but you can't argue the logic."

What started out as an awkward silence stretched into nearly five minutes of Connor staring off into the woods, brain churning away in the fashion the Resistance fighter had become used to both in the future and the past. Unfortunately, she'd assumed she would just be helping John as far as the house and hadn't brought her coat, the chill of the early evening wind cutting through her sweater, especially along the flank where John's blood had the garment glued to her side. "Come on, Johnny, lets get you back."

John straightened a bit against the tree, coming back to himself slowly, "Huh?"

Realizing that poking the man's pride by pointing out he was white as a sheet and shaking just trying to stay on his feet wasn't the best avenue of attack, Darla just hugged her arms around her sides, "I'm cold, it's freezing out here."

"Oh." He seemed to take her current state of dress into account for the first time, looking even more sheepish when he remembered how much she hated the cold in the first place. "I'm sorry, I just... yeah, lets go."

As Darla sidled up beside him to support his weight on the way back to the house, Connor further surprised her by shrugging out of his coat with a grunt of discomfort, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest. Her surprise at the gesture must have showed, because John just smiled a bit and leaned in conspiratorially. "Believe it or not, I care about humans too."

Catching Cole's tiny smile before she managed to entirely hide it, John decided to end on an up-note, shuffling up the path towards the house, "Come on. I dunno about you, but I'm tired of looking like an extra from a bad horror movie."

"Speak for yourself boss," Darla's grin was ear to ear, "Even at my worst, I can _still_ pull off the sexy vampire."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 12th, 2011  
1730hrs

Cameron crossed the threshold into the Connor household far more quietly than she normally did, that in and of itself showcasing her jumbled emotions better than any door slam ever could. She'd just returned from her own version of 'clearing her head', as John referred to it, putting their weaponry and supplies into one of the below-ground dumps situated around the house. After triple-checking that the ground was recovered with significant enough debris that even a terminator wouldn't notice the stash, Cameron was out of busy work.

While her emotions had developed much over the past three years with John's patient aid, she still had trouble shaking her more machine-like tendencies at times. Her husband could spend hours staring off into space doing nothing but thinking, but it was a luxury Cameron only allowed herself while engaged in other, more productive tasks.

Now that her chores were finished, it was time to return, ready or not.

Still, that didn't mean she wanted to do anything that would increase the odds of running into Sarah Connor while still in such a precarious mood, thus the exceptionally silent entry and the quick jog up the stairs towards the bedroom. It always put John in a bad mood when she and his mother fought, Cameron hated to consider his emotional state if she slapped the woman into unconsciousness.

She had expected John to be in their room, his physical condition pretty much necessitating bed-rest, but she certainly hadn't been expecting the scene before her. Her John was balancing on one sock-covered foot, the other boot having been unlaced, but his back had started giving him hell before he'd managed to take it off and was thus abandoned. His pants were unbuttoned and unzipped, but still hanging low on his hips while he tried in vain to wrestle his blood-soaked t-shirt from his upper body with one shoulder so bruised he couldn't rotate it more than a few degrees.

Head quirking to the side curiously, not quite sure where to look considering John's face was entirely obscured by the black of his t-shirt, she stepped up in front of him, "John?"

Freezing more in embarrassment than surprise, having heard the door open on his wife's arrival, John's uninjured shoulder slumped dejectedly, "Uh... yeah?"

Cameron couldn't entirely hide her amusement at his predicament, luckily, he couldn't see it. "Do you require assistance?"

John shook his head tiredly, not about to be defeated by a t-shirt, "I think I've got it Cameron."

Without another word he resumed his struggles, grunting and trying to wrench his left shoulder just a little bit higher, resembling a man trying to wriggle his way out of a straitjacket. A loud *pop* echoed through the room, John letting out a long groan and stumbling backwards onto the bed, the shirt pulling a few inches higher on his chest and finally revealing the wound on his back he'd torn open walking around with Cole earlier, two snapped stitches slowly leaking blood down his ribs, saturating the waistband of the pants and boxers still sitting low on his hips.

Without a word Cameron closed the distance between them, neatly tearing the shirt in two across the front and pulling the halves down his arms gently before examining the wound on his back. "Two popped stitches. You'll be fine, I'll get the medkit."

Sporting a small smile, John caught her hand before she could walk out. "I'm fine now. It'll stop on it's own."

"Alright." Not entirely convinced, but realizing his decision shouldn't directly risk his well-being, Cameron sat down beside him on the bed, glancing down at her hands, "Can we talk?"

He eyed her wearily, wondering how she can know so much about him physically and not see he was barely staying conscious, "About what?"

Cameron could feel her eyes flick back down to his body again, the damage there. "About this...," Running a delicate finger over a bruise on his side with a frown "...about Armenia."

John shivered a little at her touch, his pulse picking up unconsciously and his breath coming quicker. He didn't know what bothered him more - that she could effect him this easily, or that the finger running down his flank was telling _her_ exactly how much she effected him. "Now?"

"Yes." The cyborg was insistent, lifting her gaze from the mass of bruises and cuts dotting her husband's back and returning to his face, "I think it's important."

His shoulders slumped a bit, head bowing forward into his hands so he could rub the tension forming at his temples, "What do you want from me, Cameron?"

Cameron could feel her irritation bubbling quickly back to the surface at the dismissal in his voice, "I want to know why you did what you did."

John shook his head, glancing idly to the blood dripping down his back, kicking his unlaced boot off and starting on his socks without bothering to glance up. "And I want a shower, not an interrogation."

Despite her anger, his wife was at least able to understand his desire to be rid of two days of blood and sweat, not to mention the benefit to making sure his wounds were properly cleaned. Putting her own desire for emotional resolution on the back burner for the time being, Cameron kneeled down in front of him and batted his hands away, quickly stripping the socks from his feet.

He quirked a brow a bit, actually surprised she hadn't stormed off when his pissy attitude reared it's ugly head, "What are you doing?"

"Helping you." To Cameron it was obvious, "You can barely stand upright, you'll need my assistance to shower."

John looked like he was about to object, but frankly didn't even have the energy for that at the moment, eventually just nodding in acceptance, "Thanks Cameron."

Cameron slipped into her customary small smile, pulling his pants down his legs and tossing the bloodstained clothing as well as the remains of his shirt into the trash bin beside his desk. Without hesitating she whipped her own shirt over her head, unbuckling her belt and undoing her pants, letting them fall to pool around her ankles before stepping out of them.

He couldn't help but smile a bit, nose just inches from his wife's exposed bellybutton, "I've missed this, you know? Just the two of us, actually alone for five minutes while the sun is still up."

Not willing to be derailed, Cameron just returned his smile and held her hands out for him to take, pulling him to a standing position and helping him out of his boxers. Deciding the sooner they were finished here the sooner they could talk, she slipped off her own underwear before settling under his arm to support his considerably larger frame. To an outside observer, she imagined the image of her helping John do anything would appear rather comical when taking into account how much he'd grown over the past few years in both size and musculature, owing in large part to his continued training.

Grunting softly when they got underway, John was a bit shocked how much weight he had to rest on Cameron, the day's limited activities leaving him beyond exhausted. Glancing sidelong at his wife, John found himself just now noticing the gauze patch still covering her cheek, "Hey, who fixed you up?"

Cameron could feel guilt rushing to the service, never having wanted to deal with such cosmetic concerns while John was so badly injured. "Corporal Lorne."

John smiled openly at that, glad her friend was around to pick up his slack, "She did a good job."

Nodding quickly, Cameron pulled the shower door open, "I'll tell her you said that."

Leaning up against the glass wall of the shower, John let Cameron step in and turn the water on, shivering a bit on the tile while they waited for it to heat up. Realizing it had been days since he'd said it, John gently turned his wife to face him, fingering her chin. "Hey. I love you."

Cameron simply smiled halfheartedly and helped him into the shower and under the spray, determined to finish this so they could discuss his recent decisions before he needed to sleep again.

For his part, John frowned, not used to Cameron being this distant, at least not anymore. Unfortunately, it was a little difficult to concentrate on anything with hot water bombarding literally dozens of scrapes and cuts all over your body and reminding you exactly where every one is. "Shit!"

John put a shaking forearm against the wall of the shower, leaning forward and resting his forehead on it so his head was directly under the spray, dried blood and two days of grime running down his body before dripping to the shower floor and swirling down the drain in red-black torrent.

Cameron stepped forward slowly, running first her fingers then the cloth over the unmarred sections of his shoulders, careful to skirt around the worst of his wounds while still cleaning the skin. Though detecting the pleasured murmurs escaping through his lips, she was far more focused on the emotions still tearing through her mind. The unanswered questions about her husband's behavior.

Relaxing under Cameron's strong, sure hands, John turned around and rested his head back against the shower wall, letting the hot water run down his face and take all the accumulated blood with it.

Without a word she kept on gently washing his front much the same way she had his back, carefully avoiding the worst of the gashes and stitched wounds, reducing pressure when running over bruises. Concentrating entirely on her task limited the amount of her mind able to continue turning over the same concepts on a near infinite loop, slowly driving her up the wall. She _needed_ to talk to John, if only to break the cycle.

So preoccupied was she with her routine, she barely registered John tugging the cloth free of her hand as she completed her task, ringing the blood and grime from it as best he could before adding more shower gel and starting on her shoulder. Now, with nothing to focus on besides her thoughts, Cameron found herself becoming lost to them. 'Zoning out' as John would call it.

Running the cloth gently over her shoulders, John turned her so she was facing away from him, doing his best to return the favor, even skimming slowly down along her spine. "Cameron? You with me?"

Despite all of her processing power, the best the cyborg could muster was a distracted murmur, "Mmmmhmmm."

John just smiled, stepping up behind her and wrapping an arm around her midsection, lips descending automatically to the junction of her neck and shoulder. "Good."

Though distracted, the sensations were far from unpleasant, Cameron leaning back into them almost on instinct, John letting out a low groan of appreciation.

Sweeping her hair to one side and nibbling along the curve of her throat, her husband's growing 'interest' was clearly making itself felt against her back. "I think we're clean enough."

Cameron cringed reflexively, images bombarding her in frantic sequence - John's battered body splayed out on the hood of the Mercedes, screaming in agony while O'Brien pried the metallic shards from his body, culminating with a scene that hadn't actually happened, yet she hadn't been able to banish from her thoughts since the fight: John lying broken and unmoving on the floor of the plane, beyond help, beyond caring, dead because she had failed him.

Feeling the shivers running through her, John didn't need any more encouragement, the hand on her side walking finger by finger across the short-cropped curls nestled between her hips. "So... bed?"

His questing touch was finally enough to snap Cameron out of her simulations and worries, taking a step forward and spinning around with a glare, looking for a moment like she was about to snap and kill him anyway before shaking her head resolutely. "No, not bed."

John froze up completely at the totally foreign look in her eyes, something that hasn't been directed at him since... he shook his head to rid himself of that image by force.

Suddenly feeling awkward standing there totally naked, wet, and exposed, John's defense reflex kicked in - inappropriate humor, "Really? Cause I don't think my back can handle it standing up."

"John, I'm being serious. Look at yourself...," Her pissed off face not going anywhere in a hurry, she nodded at his battered body "...you're covered in cuts and you can barely stand."

Sensing a serious conversation on the horizon, the younger Connor couldn't help but grasp at the last few threads of sex with the wife rather than emotionally exposing himself. "Come on, Cameron. We'll take it nice and slow."

His smile growing at the memory, "Just like our wedding night."

Cameron had to almost physically suppress the urge to raise her voice, "That's not my point..."

"Then just what the hell is your point?" John snapped a bit, clearly not liking the direction this shower had just taken.

Stepping forward a tiny amount, she matched his glare with her own. "You did a very stupid thing back in Armenia and now you're hurt. I...I'm...you ignored me John. I do my best to keep you safe, but you don't even consult me, your wife, about your decisions. I don't like it when you don't listen to me."

Surprisingly, some of her anger seemed to fade as the words left her, as if simply discussing the situation was bringing her a level of relief, unfortunately she didn't have long to focus on the process as John launched into a vehement defense of his actions.

"Ignored you?" Shaking his head, John was starting to look more than a little angry himself. "I heard you loud and clear, but I made the call I thought was best. That's who I am. That's what I do. You taught me that!"

"I taught you that you're no good to anyone dead. Did you stop to consider how I might feel about that?" Cameron paused and looked at him seriously, continuing in an unusually soft voice, as if hesitant to actually speak the possibility. "What if you die John, where does that leave me?"

Despite himself, John could actually feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes at the thought of leaving Cameron alone to fend for herself, but in classic Connor fashion shoved it deep, deep down where it wouldn't bother anyone. "My safety isn't your concern anymore, Cameron. You're my wife, not my bodyguard. You've made that clear."

"Your safety is always my concern, especially now." All the anger having drained from her voice, Cameron closed the gap between them, placing her hand gently on his arm "You trying to get yourself killed doesn't make you the General you seem to want to be."

"Hey," Her statement landing just a little too close to home, John snapped reflexively, "I was _trying_ to kill him, it just didn't work out that way."

Refusing to back down because of John's pride, Cameron was insistent, "You shouldn't have been trying to at all, that's my point. You rushed into a strategically unsound situation without thinking and would have died without my intervention. That is why I'm mad at you, and that is why we're not going to bed."

She hesitated a moment while trying to find the right words to express herself, "You need time to consider that your life no longer holds value only to you. It hurts _me_ to see you injured, John."

"Great." Feeling a little better now that his muscles had at least been loosened up by the hot spray of the shower, John hobbled out onto the bathmat and snagged a towel from the rack, "I just really don't know how you expect this to work if you punish me every time I have to make a call you don't like."

Cameron glowered from her position in the shower, not bothering to turn off the water. She couldn't believe he thought this was nothing more than a petty, spiteful punishment, "If all you care about is sex, then why bother marrying me?"

"Hey," Jabbing a finger in her direction while hastily toweling himself off, John's mood was quickly deteriorating, "You're the one linking the two."

Quickly drying his short-cropped hair, he paused long enough to let out a frustrated sigh, "First time we've been alone in days, I'm afraid to count my teeth because I'm pretty sure they're not all there, and all I wanted was to spend a little time with my wife."

"You're the one who started dragging all that..." John motioned idly into the air, with the hand still clutching the towel, "Shit in here. I thought I was supposed to be John with you and not the General?"

Her husband froze totally for a second, head quirking to the side, feeling oddly schizophrenic at the moment. Sometimes even he managed to forget they were supposed to be the same person.

For Cameron however, his little speech had done nothing more than prove her point, "Exactly. The first time we've been alone together and all you wanted was sex. Is that all I am to you? Just a way for you to 'unwind'?"

If possible, John's posture became even more rigid, the only part of his body moving his jaw slowly grinding away, tendons stretched taut nearly to the point of breaking. She knew that was his button, and she'd pushed it anyways. "You know it's not like that."

"You haven't even spoken to me in nearly sixteen hours," She pointed out a bit petulantly, "and then you try to initiate sex with me."

"Cameron..." Pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, John made it a point to take a moment and reign in his anger, knowing most of it had nothing to do with his wife or her attitude. "If all I cared about was sex I could have run off to the barracks and found some. I wanted sex with my wife. I wanted sex with _you_. Because I feel like crap, I almost died, and it occurred to me that it might be nice to remember for five fucking minutes that some part of my life doesn't entirely blow."

Face suddenly softening, Cameron turned off the water in the shower and padded out onto the mat beside him. Now that he'd actually taken the time to explain his motivations, she could at least understand his behavior, now she just had to make sure he understood hers as well. "I understand that, John. But I'm still angry with you for your irrational behavior. I need you to understand that too, and accept it."

John nodded slowly, handing his towel off to his wife, "Risky, yes. Irrational? No."

Running a hand through his hair, all he could do was shrug, "You're right, I made a mistake, but I was trying to do my job. I was trying to protect my people. I'll make calls like that again and you know it."

Dropping a kiss on her cheek, John limped his way into the bedroom in search of non-shredded clothes. "You need to ask yourself if you can handle that, Cameron."

"I know you need to make these decisions," Cameron insisted honestly, quickly and efficiently drying herself as she spoke, "I just want you to listen to and consult your wife occasionally. Even future John did that much."

"I do... uh.." Looking a little awkward, John started digging into his underwear drawer with a lot more focus than was necessary for the task, "I appreciate what you did for me out there. You know that, right?"

"I do." She confirmed softly, hanging her towel back onto the rack and following him into the bedroom, positioning herself just off her John's shoulder in case he lost his balance again. "It's my job to keep you safe. I want to be your wife, you know that, but that means I want everything that comes with that."

Stepping into a pair of boxers, John couldn't help but quirk a brow, glancing back over his shoulder at the typically unselfconscious cyborg still totally nude just a foot behind him, "Everything?"

Most of her anger already having vented during their argument, John was lucky she saw the rather poorly-timed attempt at humor for what it was, shaking her head in suppressed amusement at her husband's ability to always place a foot firmly into his mouth. "Not tonight. I... I'm still not sure how I feel. Just... not tonight, alright?"

"Then would you mind putting some clothes on?" Turning back to the dresser and snagging a t-shirt, John smirked into the mirror, "You're killing me over here."

Taking that as her cue, Cameron slipped into her version of pajamas, a tank-top and boyshorts, John having abandoned his t-shirt without putting it on, obviously having decided working the thing over his head was more trouble than it was worth. Catching his gaze as he limped over towards the bed, she seemed a little reluctant to bring it up, but hoped he would take the hint, "Will you be alright if I leave you alone for a while?"

"I'll live." Not entirely sure why she felt she needed the time to herself, John could at least understand the sentiment. "It might be nice to be able to sprawl out for once."

"Thank you." Leaning down and dropping a quick kiss on his lips, Cameron made a point of straightening his bangs for him before pulling back, "I'll be back later, I promise."

Nodding idly, John let out a yawn and drifted back into the pillows, "Take your time, I'll probably be out till morning."

Tossing a tired wave in her direction as the room lights winked out and the door closed behind her, Connor could only shake his head as he tried to settle into sleep, wishing for about the millionth time his wife had come with a manual.

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note: Thank you as always to my beta Bigbew, without whom this chapter would likely never seen the light of day. On a related not, I apologize for the length of time between updates, but this chapter was rewritten no less than four times during that period. I only hope you guys will like what finally saw the light of day.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, it really makes all the effort worthwhile to know people appreciate it.


	27. Chapter 27

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 27/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 10/28/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

* * *

Chapter 27 - 'Home Stretch'

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 13th, 2011  
0902hrs

"Hey boss, lookin' good!" Despite the early hour, Private Carmack managed an enthusiastic thumbs up in his CO's direction, using the brief interruption as an excuse to stand up straight and work the kinks out of his back. "We weren't expecting to see you up and about for a few days yet."

John couldn't help but shake his head a bit, noting how the rest of the troops had picked up the pace considerably once they'd realized Connor was on the prowl nearby. The phenomenon wasn't foreign to him anymore, and was the very reason he couldn't allow himself to spend the day lounging in bed, "Takes more than some half-assed Armenian hitman to slow me down, Dooley."

"Just sayin', I was in the bird when O'Brien was putting you back together... you weren't lookin' all that hot." Shrugging his massive shoulders a bit, Carmack tilted his head to give the younger man a long once-over.

Despite the overcast sky and the not-entirely-insignificant fact the sun was still half hidden by the horizon, John had decided to go with a pair of mirrored aviators he'd snatched from Sarah's room and a baseball cap, covering, or at least shading the majority of the damage to his face. The kid's knuckles looked like he'd been sparring with a brick wall, and his knee was popping every other step, but Connor seemed determined to push himself along by sheer will until his body was able to pick up the slack again.

"I'm fine, Private." John's tone, as well as the unwelcome use of rank, told him the warm and fuzzy thing wasn't in the cards this morning, "Are we still on schedule or do you need more bodies out here?"

Toeing the crate of 7.62 NATO at his feet, Dooley's brow scrunched up while he thought about it, "You'd have to ask Derek to be sure, but we've got most of the priority stock above ground already. Clau... Private Coons, is supervising the loading of the shipping containers, and Weaver's people dropped the last of the trucks we need to pull 'em off last night."

In the end he was forced to shrug, "But we got a lotta gear to work through here boss, and that isn't even counting the space we got earmarked for food and medical supplies. Just not sure we'll have enough room."

"Fair enough." Nodding quickly while surveying the scene, the soldiers packing and labeling everything of value for later storage of the bunker before passing the crates along the line to be loaded into the waiting trucks, he couldn't help but smile a bit. How many Resistance cells in the history of the world had this kind of cohesion? He's been gone for more than a week, and they hadn't missed a beat.

John had more than a sneaking suspicion he had his uncle to thank for that.

"I'd rather be stuck with extra than not enough." Smirking a bit, he slapped the larger man on the shoulder, "Anything we can't take with us goes back in the ground, we can either pick it up later ourselves or provide the stash locations to a local Resistance cell. Nothing gets wasted, understood?"

"Sure thing, boss." Snapping off a two-fingered salute, Dooley heaved a sigh and got back to the glamorous task of slinging ammunition a little further down the line.

Shaking his head and fighting back a smile, John returned to his thus-far fruitless search for his wife. Despite the fact Cameron had assured him she'd be back up to bed the previous night, she hadn't been there when he'd awoken that morning, just adding one more problem to his ever-growing list.

He'd been up for nearly three hours, but Cole had swept in before he'd even managed to finish his Corn Flakes with a laundry list of things that had been neglected during their absence and that had kept him busy until a few minutes ago. Which brought up a really annoying point that had been nagging at him for days now.

Despite the fact he'd spent most of his life running from it, John had to admit that on the few occasions he'd allowed himself to imagine his roll in the future, it had been a little more... glamorous. Since they'd assembled their team nearly a year before, he'd spent maybe a total of thirty-six hours engaged in anything resembling combat, most of that running away from Armenian thugs. Hardly the stuff of a decent Rambo movie.

Instead of front-line action, he found himself spending most of his time hunched over a desk worrying about permanent effects to his posture. It wasn't enough that they put together an arsenal. It wasn't enough that they assembled enough supplies to see them through an extended nuclear winter. None of that would do any good if it wasn't arranged, cataloged, and gone over with a fine-toothed comb in excruciating detail.

Everything they had was triaged as if they were headed into space, because frankly, that was the closest analogy that held any water at all. Every item was weighed for value, longevity, availability of replacement parts, before literally being weighed and measured in order to determine how much space it would require in the limited confines of the bunker.

From the beginning, Derek had insisted on uniformity, and for that reason they were leaving many of the group's 'prestige pieces' to gather dust until someone had enough time to retrieve them from their caches after Judgment Day. Despite the lack of punching power, it just made good sense to focus on NATO 5.56 and 7.62, because frankly, it's what they had on hand and as long as they were fighting in North America, it would continue to be the easiest to obtain more of, even after J-Day.

It said something rather disturbing about who they were and what they were preparing to accomplish that more than half of the allotted storage space would be packed to overflowing with ammo. Not food, not computers, not cultural artifacts or pieces of the world about to be unmade forever... but death in a small metallic cartridge.

It was almost fucking poetic.

The sound of metal being rearranged knocked John back to the present and sent him shambling off in the direction of one of the larger underground caches they used primarily for heavy weapons storage, a bit further away from the house than most of the others. If Cameron had been looking for privacy, he imagined this place was pretty much tailor-made, which was why it didn't surprise him in the least to find his wife in the pit prepping an .50 cal M2HB that was probably twenty years older than his mother.

Climbing down the ladder as quickly as his back allowed, John stood off to the to the side of Cameron's work area, a bit surprised she either hadn't noticed him or had chosen to ignore him, "Um... Cameron?"

Now, John had known his bride for three years now, he's seen her in nearly every context imaginable, but he was forced to admit that this was one he'd never encountered before. Cameron... was zoned out. She was staring off into space, eyes glazed over exactly the same way a human would have appeared, idly rubbing a rag along the barrel of the .50 caliber machine gun. The 9-inch or so section of barrel she'd been covering gleamed like it had just rolled off the production line, but the rest of the weapon was in a sad state, giving him an interesting sense of just how long she'd been woolgathering.

"Cameron?" Having never encountered this situation before, John wasn't entirely sure how to approach it, but he had a sinking suspicion that frightening her wasn't a good idea, "Are you alright?"

For a few long moments, he was convinced she still hadn't heard him, until finally Cameron blinked a few times in rapid succession and glanced back over her shoulder to regard him, "Yes."

Nodding slowly, John chanced another step forward, "You said you'd come back to bed... are you still pissed off at me?"

Turning back to her task as if nothing was amiss, Cameron shook her head, "No."

"Okay." John wasn't exactly an authority on healthy relationships, his destiny and his mother's track record had pretty much guaranteed that, but even he had the feeling this kind of back and forth wasn't exactly SOP, "Then why won't you talk to me?"

Though not bothering to glance up from her task, he could still almost feel the 'are you slow?' look leveling on him, "I'm talking to you now."

It wasn't like Cameron to shut down emotionally, as ironic as that was. Throughout their relationship, it had always been John who suffered through the doubts, who had held some part of himself in reserve... just in case things went south. If she was behaving this way, something was really bothering her, and the only option he was able to dredge up at the moment was another apology, "Cameron... I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to hurt you."

Falling back on the humor he'd always used to defuse tense situations, John could only shrug, "I just happen to be nineteen, horny, and kind of a moron."

"All true." The lack of a pause before her dry retort stung a bit, but at least she didn't seem to be angry with him, "However, I'm not still 'pissed'. I just... required time to think."

Stepping up behind her, John only hesitated a moment before wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Cameron put down the part she was cleaning and finally looked up, though still staring straight ahead and not bothering to acknowledge his touch. "Do you ever..." Pausing, she seemed to be trying very hard to come up with the right words "...think about our relationship, about us...as a couple?"

"Of course." John could only shake his head a bit, confused by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. Then again, he HAD asked her to talk about it, "I've thought about it pretty much every day since the first day I met you... I just didn't always want to admit it to myself."

Turning around in his arms so quickly it nearly took the tip off his nose, Cameron gave him a look that while not quite a glare, still wasn't exactly pleasant.

"What?" All he could feel was his husband Spidey Sense telling him he'd managed to say the wrong thing again, "What did I do?"

"You didn't want to admit what John?" Cameron was obviously fearing the worst, the same thing that always nagged her, that he somehow regretted their relationship. Their marriage.

Smiling a little sadly, John let go with his right arm to bring his hand up and stroke her cheek, "That I loved you. That I wanted to spend the rest of my life with a machine."

John's heart seemed to finally kick-start again when her eyelids fluttered just a little and she leaned in to his touch. "What made your mind up about us?"

"You did." For the first time since his arrival, John's smile felt genuine, leaning in to drop a kiss on her forehead, "It took a lot of courage to do what you did. To put yourself out there... not knowing how I'd respond. But I knew that first night, it just felt right being with you, and I never wanted to lose that again."

"You don't regret your decision? I know that our marriage hasn't lived up to your expectations so far. I haven't been the best wife I know. I can't provide you with offspring, your mother hates me, your friends are uncomfortable around me, we aren't..." Cameron was shaking her head while she rattled off her little list in quick succession, obviously having been out here dwelling on it all night.

"Whoa, whoa!" Shaking his own head, John tried to cut off her rant, "What? How do you think it 'hasn't lived up to my expectations?' "

"You still wish to copulate with Corporal Cole" She carried on shaking her head, before suddenly looking up, all the insecurity gone now that she had a focus for her doubts, looking impossibly imposing despite her stature "Don't you?"

"Why would you say that?" John couldn't help but look hurt. Despite everything they'd been through, he'd been as faithful as possible since they first got together, "Darla is a friend, and my XO, nothing more."

"But you find her attractive." Raising up to her full height, Cameron's fists clenched either side of her uncontrollably. "You're unsatisfied with me and you want more...just like him"

"I can't help who I find attractive, Cameron." Grinding his teeth with a frown, John really wished he could have handled this like a normal guy. Just deny it until the problem goes away. After all, it's not like she can read your mind, right? Ha ha. Except his wife could read his mind, or more accurately, his traitorous body, and knowing that lying to her would only make things worse, John was forced to tell the truth and hope it would be enough. "But I'd never act on it. THAT is the difference between me and the General. I love you... that's enough for me."

Cameron seemed to falter a bit at his declaration, some of the anger finally slipping from her normally placid features, though a part of her was obviously still unconvinced "You, don't wish to take her instead of me?"

Reaching down and gently taking hold of Cameron's right hand, he lifting it up and placed it flat over his heart without hesitation, making sure to look her straight in the eyes, "Never. I would die before I hurt you like that."

Rather that reassuring her, which John had been going for, his words seemed to strike fear into her, Cameron's voice raising noticeably, "No!"

"Huh?" John could feel his eyebrows shoot up a bit in shock at her reaction. Wasn't that exactly the kind of thing women wanted to hear? Especially ones harboring serious doubts about a relationship? "I'm serious, Cameron. You're the most important thing in the world to me, and that will never change."

"Say the word, and we're gone. Understand? I would leave it all behind if you asked me to, if it's what you wanted."

In the space of a second she was throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his back, and squeezing him as tightly as his body allowed while pressing her head in to his chest. "No. You can't leave, you're too important."

After a long pause, she added, almost as an afterthought, "...to everyone."

John nodded slowly, having expected her response,w running his hands up and down her back in slow, soothing circles, "Alright. Like I said, whatever you want."

Which brought up a very good question. In fact, it was one of those thoughts that just made you want to kick your own ass for not having come up with it sooner. Leaning down and dropping a soft kiss on his wife's hair, he decided to give it a shot. "So...what exactly do you want, Cameron?"

"I..." She paused for a long moment, brow cinching up like a monkey trying to comprehend a computer, or Derek trying to comprehend anything that didn't go boom or vroom.. "I think I'd... like to make us dinner tonight"

"Really?" John couldn't help but smile at that, Cameron never ceasing to surprise him. "Okay, I'll set aside the whole night for us to spend some time together. I know I've been neglecting you... I'm sorry."

"No it's alright, you've been busy. What time will you be home?" She glanced up from her position against his chest.

"Why don't we plan on dinner at the same time the men eat?" Shrugs, "That way no one can complain about me taking some time off to spend with my wife. I'm... getting a little tired of having to justify myself."

Apparently he'd just put his foot in his mouth again, because she began rather frantically shaking her head. "No, don't do that. You have more important things to do. This was stupid, you're preparing for Judgment Day and the men have certain expectations about what..."

"Hey." John cut her off before she could make it back to full steam, wondering just what in the hell had gotten into her over the last 24 hours."It may not be important to them, but it is to me, Cameron. Dinner tonight sounds fantastic."

Smiles reassuringly, "But only if you promise to make something you enjoy too. It always makes me feel guilty eating something you cooked when you don't join me. You're my wife, not the help."

Cameron thought about it for a moment before deciding he was sincere, but still looked like she needed reassurance. "You're sure?"

"I'm John Connor." Smirking a little and shaking his head, John let out a pretty passable Sarah Connor scoff, "I'm pretty sure they'll get the fuck over it."

"Alright..." John seemed to be in a good mood this morning, and he had asked her what she wanted. Still, Cameron seemed reluctant to ask for anything beyond what he'd already agreed to. "Could we...spend some time together afterward?"

"Of course." Cameron's attitude was actually starting to make John feel a little guilty about this mess. After all, she really shouldn't have to make a special request just to spend a little time with him, "Did you have any ideas about what you want to do?"

She shrugged a bit, and when she looked up at him, it was like a switch had flipped. Cameron was practically grinning, openly enthusiastic about the idea in a way he'd never seen her before, "You've always threatened to introduce movie night..."

John chuckled a little and squeezed her tight. Well, as tight as a human can squeeze a cyborg that could crush his skull with her fingers, "Now's as good a time as any I guess."

"I just..." He brought out his still-fledgling 'serious voice', wanting her to understand that he was going to make an effort, but she couldn't keep being afraid to let him know when he was screwing up. "I don't want you to be like this Cameron. You deserve to be happy, and I want to make that happen. There's no need for you to run off all night to an ammo dump. Just... talk to me, okay?"

"I am happy" Seemingly ignoring the last part of his speech, Cameron leaned up to kiss his cheek "As long as you're happy"

Sensing he hadn't entirely gotten his point across, John was about to clarify when his cellphone chirped, Cole's voice cutting across the still active walkie-talkie feature, "Ummm... Johnny? We've been waiting on you to start the meeting for fifteen minutes. You're not still in bed are you?"

Catching sight of his watch with a long groan, John leaned forward to let his forehead rest against Cameron's, "Fuck."

"Go on, you go to work." Despite her earlier attitude, this new upswing appeared to be sticking to her like glue, even Cole unable to ruffle her feathers. Cameron just tilted her head and kisses him again before smiling, "I'll be waiting for you"

Dropping a quick kiss on her lips, still clearly not wanting to go, John yanked his cell out of his pocket and headed toward the stairs, pausing only at the last second when he remembered just how depressed Cameron had been when he showed up, rocking on the balls of his feet and looking back over his shoulder, "You're sure you're alright?"

But all that greeted him was another nod and that Stepford Wife smile, "Mmhmm"

"Good." Despite an odd feeling that he'd just missed something important, John just wasn't the kind of guy to look a gift horse in the mouth. He woke up this morning with a check in the 'pissed off wife' category, and had turned it around in under 30 minutes. That was pretty impressive, even for John Connor.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 13th, 2011  
1200hrs

"Push! Come on! Is that really all I'm gonna get out of you today old man? Push!"

Derek was obviously too busy concentrating on not beating the life out of the woman who was supposed to be helping him rehab his shoulder to notice Sarah's entrance into the room, which she appreciated, because frankly it was entertaining as hell watching him go all red-faced and sweaty.

Cole was hovering above the stricken soldier, straddling the bench a foot from his head while he pushed an almost comically tiny fifteen pound weight up off his chest and into the air with his left arm, a harsh exhale and a groan of discomfort accompanying every rep, the rivulets of sweat running down from his hairline telling the elder Connor she'd arrived well into the workout.

Despite finding more than a little humor in the situation, Sarah knew exactly how hard it was to get a shoulder functioning after having a chunk of metal pierced through it, and found herself feeling sorry for her son's uncle. After all, he'd taken that round jumping in front of her, a decision she still couldn't quite comprehend. There had never been a doubt in her mind Derek would kill or die for John without hesitation, but that he'd done it for her gave her pause.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Sarah rapped a knuckle on the wooden support column she was leaning against to get Darla's attention, "Hey, Cole. You gonna be finished soon?"

"Um... give me a second." Had it been just about anyone else, Darla would have told them to go fuck themselves, but this was Sarah Connor, and it wasn't every day she came wandering out to the barracks. Casting a look just heaping with disdain down at the still-struggling Lieutenant on the bench beneath her, Cole gave a distracted nod, "Yeah, he's toast."

"Oh thank Christ..." Letting the barbell fall to the floor with a clatter, Derek just lay there for a long moment trying to catch his breath, "You know Cole, I think you missed your calling in life. You'd make a hell of a dominatrix."

Darla shrugged, slipping off the bench and dropping a towel on the man's chest, "Hey, I don't get paid for this shit, which makes your pain not only my only source of entertainment, but also my only form of compensation."

"Bench is all yours." Deciding she had more important things to do than sit around waiting for Lieutenant Reese to stop bitching, Cole was headed for the door when Sarah caught her attention with a quirked finger and a dangerous smirk, "Oh. You needed me for something? I thought you just wanted the room."

"Yeah." Having not spent a lot of time around John's men in the past few weeks, primarily since John had pointedly taken over every facet of command, including those Sarah had taken upon herself, she was a little unsure how to proceed. No longer having the option of just ordering her son's new XO around, she decided to go for a slightly more friendly approach, "I was hoping you could help me with something."

Her only other real option at the moment involving throwing on a coat and helping prep supplies for the bunker, Darla found herself willing to humor the woman, if only to keep her ass from freezing off, "Sure thing. You need a spotter?"

"Not exactly." Sarah waited a few seconds for Derek to collect his things and shamble off towards the house for a shower before tipping her hand, not wanting word of this to get back to John, "I've heard you have some talent with hand-to-hand."

Definitely not liking where this conversation was heading, Cole shook her head pointedly, forcing a sneer, "Yeah? Who'd you hear that from?"

"Carmack." If the older woman was phased by Darla's attitude, she wasn't letting on, closing the distance between them in a few lazy strides, "He said it's why you never used to get involved when I ran drills. Something about a tendency to hurt people during training?"

"Heh." Cole's snort was anything but ladylike, "I tend to get carried away when people start swinging at me. What can I say?"

"Good." Shrugging out of her jacket to reveal a black tank top and a pair of battered sweatpants, Sarah rolled her shoulders experimentally while making her way to the open area the soldiers used for sparring. "I'm looking for someone who won't hold back."

"Look." Trying to stop this before it had a chance to start, Darla folded her arms over her chest defiantly, "I didn't get to where I am by being stupid, Sarah. I respect you, you know that, but beating on Connor's mother is a bad fucking idea on about every level I can think of right now. Which is something you know, or else you wouldn't have waited until the place was empty to ask me."

The elder Connor nodded slowly, using a band she'd been wearing around her wrist to bind her hair up behind her head, looking more than a little dangerous herself. Of course she'd known Cole was too bright to miss the bigger picture, in fact it had been a major point in the girl's favor back shen she'd still been able to fool herself into thinking John would ever choose anyone besides Cameron, but the girl was also ambitious and took quite a bit of pride in her skill. People like that were always looking for a reason to show it off, so Sarah would give her one. "You can't hurt me, Cole. I'd have thought someone as _smart _as you would have figured that out by now."

The words had barely left her mouth when Sarah knew they'd hit the desired mark, Darla's right eyebrow arching almost comically, hips swaying sharply to one side as she regarded her boss's mother skeptically, "So you heal like a freak, I'm not exactly impressed."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about." Spreading her hands, palms out, Sarah's smile was predatory. "Five minutes, it's all I'm asking. Charley had a theory... I just want to test it."

"Yeah, scientific endeavor." Blowing a chunk of bangs out of her eyes pointedly, Darla finally started making her way over to the older woman, drawing the zipper on her hoodie down with maddening slowness, "You really now how to pique my interest there, Connor. Maybe next time you should tell me it's for God and country."

It was Sarah's turn to snort, "Would that have worked?"

"Nope." Letting her sweatshirt drop to the floor behind her, Darla cracked her neck and stopped about five feet from her adversary, "I only fight for Connor."

Lifting her hands with a sideways nod, Sarah slowly circled John's second in command, eying up the taller woman for any discernible weakness, a bit disconcerted at how closely her stance resembled John's. Considering for a moment that she'd trained him to fight, taking on someone who had not only his experience, but the added advantage of the things he'd learned in the future, suddenly seemed like a less than stellar idea.

Too bad it was too late to back down now. Bounding forward with a stuttering gait, Sarah shifted her weight from foot to foot in the space of a second, dipping out of the way of a surprisingly quick jab from a thus-far passive Cole and spinning back towards the fight.

Just in time too, because Darla had already closed the gap and was firing on all cylinders. In spite of the usual grace she carried herself with, the Operator's fighting style could only be described as brutally efficient, never allowing more than a meter of space between them as she tried to slip in through every opportunity Sarah provided her.

A dropped shoulder brought a quick jab to the jaw, a pivot to the right was met with a brutal kick to the stomach, and a hasty hook of her own was simply ducked under, a sharp uppercut to the chin her only reward for making the effort. It was one of those Connor moments, stumbling backwards with a thin stream of blood running down her upper lip and dripping down to her tanktop, the room swaying a bit before righting itself when Sarah shook her head harshly.

Her son had obviously learned a lot since she'd died in the previous time line, if the whispers of the men were to be believed from the machines themselves, and had put it to good use when training this one. But for all her strengths, Darla was still young, and just cocky enough to stick to a strategy her opponent had already figured out.

Obviously assuming Sarah was older and slower, she was countering her moves before she even fired them off. An acceptable enough plan, as long as Charley's theories didn't pan out, but the thrum building up in Sarah's tightly coiled muscles told her he was probably right.

Though the nano-machines Weaver had 'donated' for her survival had been in her system for more than a year, Charley seemed convinced they had changed her in ways she hadn't even noticed to this point. For all their intelligence when strung together, the individual machines in her system were likely very stupid. You could only fit so much data into something that small, regardless of your technology. If he was right, and they were simply programmed to keep her body at an optimum physical condition... then they might be manipulated if she just made the right demands on them.

Get hurt, they heal you. Get tired, they'll keep you going. Get physical... well, that's what she was here to find out.

Three minutes into their non-stop slugfest, Darla was starting to show the first real signs of apprehension Sarah had ever seen in the woman. As the fight wore on, everything seemed to be working backwards. Instead of landing more and more shots as she wore the other woman down, she was steadily being boxed out at every opportunity.

Sweat was running down her neck and back, every muscle on fire as she tried to keep up the constant barrage she'd been trained to throw at anyone stupid enough to stand in front of her, except for the first time in six years of fighting, it wasn't fucking working. Not only was the older Connor not slowing down, she seemed to be _speeding up_, her breathing coming in the same quick bursts it had since the beginning, virtually no sign of fatigue as she batted her hands and feet out of the way with seeming ease.

John had trained her to drop an average target in seconds, moving on to the next with machine-like efficiency until she was the only thing left breathing. No one she'd stepped up to had managed to last thirty seconds, and as they approached the five minute mark, her lack of staying power was starting to show through.

Barely able to force air into her burning lungs, hands starting to shake from the non-stop exertion, Darla realized she was fighting a losing battle. Even the earlier damage she'd inflicted on Sarah seemed to be patching itself up before her eyes, the bruise beneath the skin of her cheek already receding, the drying blood on her lips and shirt the only visible sign she wasn't just doing aerobics.

Physically unable to keep up the blistering pace any longer, Darla decided to end this little 'experiment' with a bang, slipping under a hastily thrown right and bringing her knee up into Sarah's stomach as hard as she could muster, at least partially satisfied with the violent exhale it caused. Figuring this was her last chance to end this, the Operator went all-out, a swift head-butt to Sarah's face sent the other woman staggering backwards, just far enough to open her up for the hard right Cole intended to finish this for good.

Which was exactly what Sarah had been expecting. Instead of using the obvious opportunity to toss the woman aside while she was off-balance, Sarah allowed her to wind herself up, throwing everything she had behind the punch she thought would put her in her place.

Despite the fresh blood running down from a cut above her eye, Sarah was smiling as she tossed up a forearm almost casually to intercept what should have been a shattering right, shoving it away and sending Cole stumbling back in shock. Had the woman not just head-butted her, she probably would have left it at that, a psychological victory more than enough. But Sarah Connor wasn't entirely above a little just retribution, following up with a quick kick to the gut that sent the younger woman sprawling back onto the mats behind her, gasping for breath in a pretty good imitation of the red-faced Derek she'd been harassing earlier.

"I'll be damned." Shaking her head while gathering up her coat as if nothing was amiss, Sarah nodded to herself, "He was right."

What...the... fuck... are you?" Growling from her position on the floor, Cole shoved herself back up to a sitting position, glaring daggers at the woman now calmly heading for the door.

Sarah waited until she reached the entryway to reply, her tone belying the same strange detachment she'd been feeling since the news of her treatment had been broken to her, not even bothering to glance back, "What John made me."

Pausing only long enough to zip up her coat, Sarah shoved open the heavy oak door with a shake of her head, "Same as you."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 13th, 2011  
1842hrs

"Oh, come on!" O'Brien was shaking her head so vehemently, Derek was convinced it was about to dislodge from her neck and roll across the floor. Which would _totally_ ruin dinner. "If he doesn't qualify, just who in the hell does, huh?"

"Kid has a point," Despite his silence thus far into the debate, even Reed was tired of listening to Austin try to talk his opposition in circles, "I mean, look at some of the dumbasses they use it to refer to. Ain't exactly setting the bar too high now, are they?"

Derek sighed and returned his attention to the slop the Scout Sniper had cobbled together from at least three separate kinds of leftovers. As much as he might agree with the young woman's take, it was hard to sprint to her defense when still sitting in front of a tepid bowl of 'stew' with her name on it, "Come on Willis, you and I both know this has nothing to do with Austin wanting to win the argument."

"Oh," Lucas quirked a condescending brow in the younger man's direction,"Then what, oh wise and sage-like Lieutenant Reese, have I been harpin' on aboot for the last half an hour?"

Reese snorted a bit at the Tech's tone, washing down the taste of his stew with a long swig of beer, "Because, you never miss an opportunity to remind everyone else that you're fucking 'edumacated'."

"Oi! I take offense to the implication that I..."

"And here come the five dollar words." Reed joined Derek in shaking his head, dragging a chunk of bread around the bottom of his bowl, the only one in the group who seemed to find something redeemable in the meal, "Ya know kid, I went to college before the bombs dropped too."

"Yeah." It was Austin's turn to snort, "In bloody South Africa. I hear their MD program still has courses on witch-doctorin'."

"So?" The soldier shrugged, shoving his bowl to the center of the table and leaning back in his chair, adopting the most infuriating smirk he possibly could, "You're still wrong. Connor qualifies, simple as that."

Lucas rolled his eyes, shoving his own food aside to devote his entire attention on the argument, "No he doesn't! Think of the list he's standing beside!"

Straightening his glasses with a huff that told everyone the lecture was about to begin, Austin continued his tirade one finger at a time, "Akbar!"

"Admiral from Star Wars." O'Brien nodded along, smirking around a mouthful of roll.

Unwilling to be deterred by the Resistance fighters determined to tackle his well-rounded intellectual argument with petty taunts, the Tech powered forward, "Alfred!"

"Butler from Batman." Derek provided not quite helpfully, barely able to keep from laughing.

"That's just bloody classic!" Okay, maybe it was wearing down on him, but just a little. "What about Peter? Huh? What joke can you possibly make about Peter the Great?"

"Heh." Coons started chuckling from across the table, joining the conversation for the first time, "_He said peter_."

"Oh, that's it! Are you six years old?" Standing back from the table with a disgusted shake of his head, pulling his tattered jacket and scarf on in a huff, Austin started heading for the back door, "Bunch of semi-evolved simians I'm trapped with! Frankly, I don't know why I put up with it anymore, it's not like there aren't intelligent people still alive at the moment!"

Amanda waited until he had just about cleared the doorway before winging a chunk of dinner roll expertly into the back of his skull from her position at the table, startling the older man ,sending him tumbling down the few steps to the ground and into the snow-bank left over from clearing the walk sputtering fresh powder and insults about the thrower's heritage.

Waiting for the door to drift itself closed, O'Brien eyed the other occupants of the table as innocently as possible, most of them trying as hard as she was to contain their laughter, "What? Figured he needed a reminder of why he needs grunts like us around."

Reed leaned over and ruffled the sniper's hair on the way to the fridge for a fresh beer, "Effective, Private. I'll give you that much. But I think you just managed to remind him why he _hates_ having grunts like us around."

"She shut him up," Derek shrugged, "That's all that matters."

Dooley nodded sagely, scruffing Amanda's hair as well, partly because he was appreciative but mostly because he knew she hated it, "Amen."

"I really don't wanna hear you bitching about it, Carmack." Keeping the conversation going, if only to avoid returning to his food, Derek accepted the Coors Reed had brought him with an appreciative smile, "I've been splitting my days between working in the fucking shed with the jolly 'ol Brit out there and rehabbing my shoulder with Cole. This right here is the best conversation I've had in two days. I mean, how sad is that?"

"Sorry." O'Brien shrugged apologetically, "I just always thought it was stupid that the guy controlled the entire freaking human race and we still called him 'Connor'. Really didn't mean to start a whole fucking debate about great leaders throughout history."

Glancing around to make sure neither Sarah or Savannah were in the kitchen or dining room, Willis leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar, "You just gotta learn to ignore Austin like the rest of us do, kiddo. He's just got a stick up his ass because the guy who saves humanity is from the 'bloody colonies'."

"They should probably be used to it by now, though right? We've saved their asses enough over the past... what... the... fuck?" Despite the fact most of the table had tuned out three words into Dooley's little commentary on the subject, as was their traditional habit, the odd lilt of his voice at the end of his sentence brought their attention back to the Private's face, or rather, what it was pointing at.

Though Cameron had been puttering around the kitchen since before Amanda had started her 'stew', most of the soldiers treated her as they always did - a fixture of whatever room she's in at that point. After all, you don't acknowledge your fridge when you walk into the kitchen, do you? It was also the safest way to stay off of her husband's shit list. If you weren't paying attention, there was little to no chance of reacting inappropriately in front of him. So only a few had even registered her departure from the kitchen twenty minutes ago while waiting impatiently for their own meals to be served up, which made her return all that more disconcerting.

If Cameron noticed their stares and flapping jaws, she didn't let on, striding confidently across the hardwood of the dining room and into the kitchen, shoes clacking through the sudden silence and skirt swishing out behind her. Snatching up her apron from it's place on the counter, she slipped it on, taking extra care not to mess up her painstakingly styled hair in the process, and set about getting the food she'd been working on since early afternoon ready to be served.

Derek was the only one who refused to glance up from his slop, despite hearing pots and pans constantly clanging around in the kitchen behind him. He'd learned to accept John's decision, but that didn't mean he was particularly fond of watching his wife make dinner looking like someone had done a Stepford Wife job on Posh Spice. He simply took it as a cue to finish his dinner and get the fuck out of there.

Her fork still halfway to her mouth, Coons looked up at the commotion to see Cameron effortlessly gliding around the kitchen, dress shimmering in the light, looking about as unharrassed as usual despite preparing what looked and smelled like a restaurant quality meal. Claudia's mouth twitched slowly from side to side as she clearly tried to make sense of what in the hell was going on.

Derek rolled his eyes a bit, only getting involved in an effort to keep the peace. "Stop staring. John catches you gaping like that we're all in for another 'reasons for integration' speech. You want that? I almost gnawed my own leg off just to escape the last one."

To her credit, Coons managed to shut her mouth completely, but still couldn't tear her eyes away from the metal. Up until recently Cameron had steered clear of the soldiers, but even from her limited amount of exposure over the last year, she could tell this wasn't exactly standard operating procedure. Her thoughts couldn't help but stray a bit in the same direction as most of the table - has she blown a gasket, and if so, are we all about to die?

O'Brien glanced up at the object of their discussion, doing her level best to keep her eyes off of the metal's exposed legs. Apparently forgetting the cyborg could easily pick up their words from across the room, Amanda even lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, "What is she doing?"

"Looks like she's cooking." Shrugging, Derek was still pointedly focusing on his food though everyone could tell he was fighting a smirk, "Or going to the opera. Hard to tell."

"Yeah dipshit, we can see she's cooking." Coons finally tore her gaze away from Cameron long enough to focus on the table, leaning in a bit, "But why is she cooking...and why is she dressed like that?"

"Probably for the same reason she does everything else," Finally looking up from his plate, the older man leveled his patented 'are you dense' look at her, "John."

Amanda sat there for a long moment looking utterly confused, but to her credit, so did most of the rest of the dinner table. "But why go to all that trouble? Connor doesn't strike me as the candlelit diner type."

Thinking about it for a minute, not looking very happy at yet another sign that John still hadn't woken up to the fact the world would end in a few weeks, Derek did his best to explain in terms the soldiers could easily grasp. "You didn't know him before. Being... 'normal', is very important to him."

"I think it's kinda sweet." O'Brien mumbled, having lost the fight long ago she was now openly gaping at the cyborg.

"Pretty sure that's the reaction Cameron's going for." Derek shook his head, "Anything to keep him from focusing on what she really is."

Giving her head a quick shake to clear it, O'Brien focused back on Derek. "I mean, Connor must appreciate it right? Being married, having this done for him...even if he is married to a cyborg."

Derek's response froze on his lips, thankfully, because John had picked that exact moment to step through the back door and into the kitchen. He was a striking contrast to the pristine perfection that was his wife at the moment, his fatigues stained with a long day's worth of grease and grime, shrugging out of his coat to reveal an equally ratty t-shirt.

"Smells fantastic." His uncle couldn't help but smirk a little at the way John had gone all gooey-eyed at the sight of his wife, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek while she ushered him to the dinner table.

O'Brien found herself gawking at the scene in front of her once again. This time however, her staring was interrupted by an overly excited blur of red flashing through her peripheral vision.

She turned her head just in time to catch sight of Savannah bouncing up on to her seat at the table next to Connor and launching in to an excited spiel about the 'awesome' dinner Cameron had made for them. Apparently, she'd helped, and was exceedingly proud of that accomplishment.

That was also Derek's breaking point, rolling his eyes in exasperation and turning back to what little was left of his meal, "Can you believe this shit?"

"You're right," Coons added with a shudder. "That is just downright creepy. Could you think of a more messed up family than those three, honestly?"

Derek shrugged noncommittally, not about to start insulting a ten year old, "Savannah is alright, she's just too young to get it. She never lived through J-day and you need to remember that."

Despite his mood though, the soldier couldn't help but smirk a little, "Then again, it still might be better than having Sarah look after her."

Coons eyed the child as she continued grinning from ear to ear while filling Connor in on her day. "I guess she's never really had a proper family. For her this is just a nice dinner with the grown ups or something."

Her words drifted off in to her head, visions of her own childhood in a Skynet work camp causing her to curl in on herself a bit.

Luckily for Claudia, her boyfriend took an opportunity to distract the table from her suddenly sullen mood as Cameron hauled a tray full of the most delicious food he'd seen outside a TV commercial over to Connor's table, glancing down at his own slop with obvious disgust, "You have got to be fuckin' kidding me! Why the hell can't you make dinner like that, O'Brien?"

Amanda once again had to tear her gaze away from the other side of the room, more specifically the amazing looking meal the cyborg prepared. She had no idea the metal could cook, or that she was even domesticated in the slightest. "Hey! If you don't like it, don't eat it. Go ask the metal for some of hers, it's not like she needs it anyway."

"Don't call her that." Surprising even himself with his automatic response, Derek tried to cover a frown by taking another swig of his beer. It's not like he was Cameron's biggest fan, but John had made his position clear, and despite the cracks present in the Resistance command structure, it was his job to enforce Connor's orders.

Despite all that, he still felt the need to justify himself, just a little, "You know how Connor feels about that."

Coons could barely suppress a scoff at her superior's sudden outburst. She put her fork down and her grin stretched almost from ear to ear. "Since when did you turn in to Mr. Derek Phillips? Defending the metal, that's a new one!"

"Shove it up your ass." Falling into another eye-roll while dropping his spoon into his bowl, Derek leaned back in his chair pointedly ignoring the domestic scene playing out across the room, "I'm following orders. You might wanna try it some time."

Still grinning, Coons leaned forward, she was never one to back down from a chance at getting a laugh or two. "Hey, I'm all for following orders...But I don't recall one saying I had to kiss the metal's ass!"

Obviously having had enough, though more pissed off that the soldiers appeared to be ignoring John's authority than his own, Derek got his back up a bit, "That metal's husband saved your scrawny ass when you were bleeding out on the sidewalk at Krueger. So maybe you can cut his wife a little slack, huh Mouth?"

Coons held up her hands defensively, but still grinning just a little. "Alright, pardon me for trying to make a joke or two." Glancing over at the aforementioned happy couple, she couldn't help but scrunch her face up a little at the sight of her CO and his wife being all gooey eyed over the dinner table at each other. Hell, they were probably playing footsy under the table too for all she knew.

Derek took the lull in the conversation as the opportunity he'd been looking for, shoving his bowl out from in front of him, suddenly not hungry anymore. Not a huge leap when confronted with what O'Brien only laughingly referred to as food.

"Well, thankfully, no one is forcing you to sit here and watch this train wreck." Though his tone was easy, it was pretty clear this wasn't exactly a suggestion, "I'm grabbing a beer and watching some TV. If it bothers you that much, I'd tell ya to do the same."

After two steps he seemed to think better of his decision, glancing back over a shoulder and lowering his voice, "Because if you fuck up Connor's happy place... he's gonna unmake you."

Smirking at the suddenly freaked out looks crisscrossing the table, he snagged a beer from the fridge and sauntered out to the living room.

Scoffing, Coons' eyes stayed fixed on his back as he left the room. "What crawled up his ass and died?"

However her question fell on deaf ears as O'Brien found herself captivated by Cameron. She'd never spent this much time in this close proximity to her before, which was probably for the better, every little movement just reminding her of her friend Allison all the more.

"Huh?" Finally catching up to the fact someone had spoken, Amanda glanced down at her hands, feeling tears rise, "Just leave it if you're done... I'll do the dishes later."

Standing up on shaky legs, refusing to look back at the scene in the dining room, O'Brien beat feet after Derek through the door and into the living room.

Something had changed in the cyborg recently. She was acting almost... human. And when she smiled the way she just had across the table at John, it was like Allison was in the room again... and it killed her. Though she wasn't sure if it was seeing that smile again, or if it was because, as always was the case, it was directed at Connor.

Coons watched O'Brien leave, looking back to John and Cameron, then back to O'Brien, starting to wonder if everyone took some crazy pills...or if the sniper put something in her food. Shaking her head and standing up, she trudged after the redhead in to the living room, pleasantly surprised to find Dooley lounging on the recliner near the window, wasting no time in crawling on top of him. Sure, he was dumb as a box full of bent nails, but that's a big part of the reason she loved him. He was just a great big cuddly puppy... that liked to blow things up for recreation.

Everyone settled into their usual Tuesday night routine, watching a baseball game, since it was Derek who arrived first and had commandeered the TV. Having been up on the cooking rotation, O'Brien technically had dibs on the set, but wasn't dumb enough to push it after potentially giving food poisoning to a number of her commanding officers.

John drifted into the room twenty minutes later looking stuffed and grinning like an idiot, Cameron escorting Savannah through the fray and up the stairs to her room, the little girl talking a mile a minute about the story she apparently wanted the cyborg to read to her.

Connor appraised his seating options for a second before flopping down beside O'Brien on the couch and leaning back into the cushions with a lazy smile, "How is everybody tonight?"

He hadn't been expecting a resounding cheer, after all, he'd caught a whiff of Amanda's cooking when he walked into the kitchen, but the chorus of groans and distracted grunts echoing through the living room did seem a bit out of place for a lazy night around the TV. He knew he'd been pushing them hard, first in hunting down and neutralizing the three T-888's sent back to provide Skynet with advanced weapons tech, then taking out Sarkissian, and now preparing for Judgment Day. Hell, that was the entire reason he'd given them the next three nights off to fuck around.

"Wow." John chuckled a little, absolutely refusing to let this screw the best mood he'd been in for weeks, "Am I working you guys too hard or is it just that the battle damage has finally ruined my natural charisma?"

Dooley looked up at that, a bit sheepishly, "Just watchin' the game, sir. Nothing against you."

"A pre-season baseball game." Quirking a brow, Connor fought the urge to scoff, "9-2 in the third inning. Yeah, I can see how that would be distracting. Seriously, did I do something?"

Again he was greeted with another round of grunts and groans, apart from O'Brien, who had her own bone to pick with the group. "No sir, they're just jealous of your wife's cooking."

He couldn't fight the smile, but at least John hoped he kept it from going all goofy this time, "Yeah. She certainly has a... talent, doesn't she?"

John knew his next little newsflash wasn't likely to go over well, but figured that if he was going to lead these people into battle and potentially their own deaths, he should be able to handle at least this much, "You guys do realize she's coming back down, right? Cameron wanted a date night, we're supposed to watch a movie."

Waiting for another round of even louder groans to die down, Derek decided it was time to get involved, not quite ready to drag ass upstairs to his bed. "Are you kidding? You're commandeering the TV now?"

John just shook his head, sipping on his beer happily, "Hey man, you've got a TV with cable and _my_ Playstation 3 hooked up to it in your bedroom. I so don't wanna hear the bitching."

"Hey, I'm not bitching." Derek snapped, a bit defensively. He knew he didn't have a leg to stand on, but a part of him had hoped his nephew would have forgotten about that for a second and let him win one for once. "So... who's picking the movie?"

Setting his empty down on the coffee table with a sighs, John reached for his best 'no fucking complaining' voice, "Um... Cameron. This whole 'date night' thing was her idea."

Though he looked uncomfortable, John's tone made it clear he wasn't budging. "Come on Derek... I've been neglecting her lately. Can't you just man up for a few hours?"

"Man up? I'm not the one who's so whipped he's letting his wife pick the damn movie." Now apparently trying to convey his disgust through nothing more than frustrated pantomime, Derek soldiered on, "If she comes down with a chick flick then I'd rather go to the barracks and be with the ice queen"

John smirked, glancing around the room, "Is that why everyone's in here tonight? Cole ran you off?"

"Yeah, everyone's afraid of her, oooh, scary badass chick." Dooley chuckled at his own joke, knowing no one else would, earning him a swat on the arm from his girlfriend who actually answered John's question seriously. "We're in here because it's warmer than the barracks...plus it would take waaay too much effort to move over there, one kidney remember!"

John just nodded slowly, looking more than a little guilty just like every other time her injury was brought up. He may want to be Connor, but John was still 19 and obviously not entirely comfortable with people being hurt under his command, "Stay as long as you want guys, but Cameron is picking the movie tonight."

Despite his smile, even Dooley could tell he was only half kidding, "And the first person that bitches and moans is on KP for a week."

Of course Cameron choose that exact moment to descend the stairs into the living room, having apparently decided that evening wear would be inappropriate for lounging on the couch she was now clad in purple cotton shorts and a matching tanktop, hair down and free despite still sporting the odd curl from her earlier styling.

Though eying the room speculatively when noting the sudden silence, Cameron decided to ignore it, instead walking over to the dvd player and popping the disc into the DVD player and pushing the tray closed.

John waited until his wife's back was to him before casting one final warning glare around the room and settling back into the couch, openly admiring Cameron's backside in her cotton sleep shorts, "Savannah give you any trouble?"

Picking up the remote off the top of the player, Cameron turned back to John. "No, she was fine."

Taking a few short steps over to the couch, her smile slowly turned in to a glare. A glare directed solely at O'Brien who currently resided next to her John on the couch. She stood unmoving, her attention focused solely on the poor girl who just happened to be sitting in that spot when John came in.

Looking torn between being intimidated and ogling the sight before her, O'Brien's brain seemed just a bit slow on the uptake tonight, "Um... is there something you need?"

Cameron merely continued glaring, as if she hadn't heard the question at all.

Eventually, after a subtle nudge from John, Amanda slowly stood, eyes fixed on the cyborg and moved to the empty spot on the love seat next to Reed as quickly as possible.

Cameron stared at the back of Amanda's head for a moment before her smile returned full force, gracefully lowering herself down in to the recently vacated spot, she sat down cross legged and laid her head on his shoulder.

Smiling a bit at Cameron's suddenly affectionate behavior, especially considering how she usually acted around him in front of the men, John leaned forward and snagged the remote Derek had left on the coffee table, handing it off to his wife while dropping a kiss on her hair.

Lowering his voice in an effort to keep their conversation private, he leaned back into the couch and pulled Cameron along with him, "Thanks for this... I think I needed it more than I realized."

Considering the night to this point, John's goofy smile made another house call, "A nice, normal night at home with my wife."

Lifting her head up off his shoulder just a little, Cameron smiled up at him until a thought struck her. "Don't you want to know what we're watching?"

"Sure." Brushing a bit of errant hair back behind her ear, he just shrugged, "But I'm fine with whatever, as long as we get to spend some time together."

Feeling braver than usual given their current company, Cameron leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his jaw, as high up on his face as she could reach at that moment. Snuggling further in to his side, she pressed play on the remote before setting it aside and letting her head rest on his shoulder again.

Looking more than a little uncomfortable from her new spot on the love seat, O'Brien broke the sudden silence of the room if only in an effort to get everyone back to acting normal again. Whatever the fuck that was for a group of time-traveling soldiers sworn to destroy a super intelligent AI trying to wipe out humanity. "Well, it's great that he doesn't care, but the rest of us do. What are we watching?"

Derek chose that moment to break his unusual spell of silence with a low disapproving growl. "It'll be a chick flick. Probably has that limey tea sucking British bastard Hugh Grant in it. I can feel the suck from over here, threatening to crush us all."

Picking her head up off her husbands shoulder once again, Cameron smiled over at the young woman she'd been glaring at only moments ago, completely ignoring Derek's tirade. "Die hard."

Despite the messenger, Dooley couldn't help but grin ear to ear, "Dude. Your wife picks Die Hard on date night?"

Then came the inevitable frown, "Only Connor has that kinda luck."

"Hey," His reply interrupted by a long, uncontrolled yawn, John continued with a cocky smile, "Luck had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah, I'm sure it was your sparkling personality." Coons contributed helpfully while she snuggled closer to Dooley. The man certainly made a comfy mattress if nothing else. On the other hand, the man loved Die Hard, and she'd been forced to sit through it more than her fair share. There were always more entertaining ways to pass the time...making sure her boyfriend paid more attention to her than the movie being foremost amongst them.

Cameron, easily ignoring the chatter around the room remained focused on John. "I know it's one of your favorites."

"It is." John couldn't help but quirk a brow as the credits started to roll across the flat screen, "But you've watched it with me like three times already."

"I thought you didn't get anything out of it," He clarified, trying to fight off another yawn as they kept making his bruised jaw crack painfully, "Because of your perfect memory."

Cameron did her best to shrug given her position pressed up against him. "If that was the case I wouldn't have watched it the second and third times. So long as I'm with you then I could watch it as many times as you want."

Rolling her eyes at the scene before her and the lovebirds one step short of making out right then and there, Amanda couldn't help but feel a little depressed that she seemed to be surrounded by not one but two happy couples. Her mood causing her to inquire a little petulantly, "Are we gonna watch this or recite poetry to each other?"

Even Reed appeared to be settling in, sipping his beer while watching everyone interact, "Yeah, settle down kids. I actually like this one."

John chuckled a little and did as requested. Had it been Derek, there would have been a shitty comeback, but Reed was a good man and had never shown anything but respect for Cameron.

It was about that time he remembered Coons' complaints about the temperature in the barracks, eying Cameron's thin cotton sleepwear, "Hey. Are you cold?"

Picking her head up of his shoulder in a now familiar movement, she looked up at him as her brow cinched together. John had always been chivalrous and caring towards her, which was a pleasant change from the cold shoulder she received from everyone else but Corporal Lorne. The fact that he seemed to be following through on his promise of a real date night increased her feeling of satisfaction.

While not cold, she found herself nodding to him, if only to satisfy his desire to be a gentleman.

With a quick nod, he snatched the knit blanket off the back of the couch and tossed it over them, hoping his added body heat would help keep Cameron toasty. After all, it was one of the few ways he could actually take care of her instead of it being the other way around.

As if in defiance of the odd circumstances, the room settled into a comfortable silence for the first half hour of the movie. As nice as it was, the warmth under the blanket coupled with his injuries and a long day of work had John fighting hard just to keep his eyes open, deciding to keep himself occupied by stroking Cameron's hair gently.

Having not been paying any attention to the movie since it began, Cameron started to slowly dance her fingertips lightly over John's stomach, occupying herself with listening to his heartbeat even out and slow down, it's rhythmic thump a comforting and constant reminder to her of her husband's good health.

Meanwhile Coons had pretty much given up on her mission of trying to distract Dooley. He _really _loved this movie. She scanned the darkened room, looking for anything that could entertain her more than some guy running around a trashed building in a dirty tank top. Her eyes eventually landed on John and Cameron, and after shrugging off the momentary thought of 'awww, what a cute couple', she shook her head and turned back to the movie with a small huff of defeat.

Not really interested in watching a movie he'd seen more times than he cared to count, John fell back into his favorite pastime - thinking. Though he was the first to admit it was more than a little jarring how quickly Cameron had gone from pissed off at him to this super-wife thing, he wasn't about to complain about the development.

Shrugging it off as just another facet of his wife's unique response to the world, he let his hand drift down a bit from her hair, massaging the synthetic muscles framing her spinal cord the way she seemed to appreciate - in other words, with a pressure that would have had most human women hissing in pain.

Feeling the contact and quirking a brow in the darkness, Cameron turned her head just a little so that her unneeded breath 'accidentally' tickled his neck. At the same time, her hand drifted down to rest on the inside of his thigh. Given the darkness of the room and the use of the blanket, nobody could see what they were up to, and John seemed to be enjoying himself, her ability to detect his heart rate being used to her advantage.

In spite of the warm temperature, John found himself shivering a bit, idly wondering if Cameron had any idea the effect she had on him with even such a casual movement. Then he spent the next few seconds pointing out to himself how stupid it was to wonder, knowing for a fact Cameron was picking up every thud of his heart through multiple sensors. Careful to keep his eyes locked on the screen, he decided that two could play that game, walking his fingers a few inches to the side, just barely ghosting over the lower vertebra of her spine where he'd learned through trial and error was the most sensitive spot on her entire body.

Were it not for the darkness, all the other occupants of the room would've seen her stiffen visibly. Since he'd discovered her spine was so sensitive on their honeymoon, he'd rarely used that knowledge to further their enjoyment of being together, something Cameron found entirely unacceptable. Her hand exerted more pressure where it currently lay on his thigh almost subconsciously, unfolding her legs and draping one of them across his, still under the cover of the blanket.

Derek spotted the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to face it. However, he made out nothing more than his nephew and his wife snuggling on the couch, and while worthy of a gag reflex or two, this was after all what John had wanted. He didn't like it, but it wasn't like they were flat out having sex right there on the couch or anything.

John smiled at Cameron's response, having been pretty much what he'd been aiming for in the first place, drifting a few lazy kisses along the curve of her jaw, deciding to experiment with a few spots he'd never really paid attention to before.

After all, when your wife seems to get sexual excitement out of a lower back massage, you had to keep an open mind about which buttons were connected to which sensations.

Wrapping his warm hands around the chilly foot resting in his lap, he started applying pressure along the curve of her instep, smirking when a finger slipped over a perfectly painted and pedicured toenail in the process.

Despite her usual restraint, Cameron shuddered a little at his teasing. She felt a sense of...excitement building. An unusual sensation for her, he never usually played with her feet either, such a normal thing for couples to do. Normal was exactly what she had been striving for. Normal was good.

Normal was perfect.

Sliding a slightly cool hand up underneath his shirt, she flattened out her palm and started to rub in slow, small circles as she flexed her toes in his grasp.

Feeling more than seeing the shivers running through her body, a sense of contentment stole through John. A part of him, perhaps bigger than he'd wanted to admit even to himself, had been afraid Cameron would react badly when faced with the lack of privacy their J-day accommodations would necessitate. But it seemed she wasn't as intimidated by the soldiers' presence as he'd originally thought she would be.

Tilting his head around for a gentle kiss, John kept up his massage, starting to wonder if he'd be able to convince Cameron to blow off the movie and head upstairs soon.

As if to punctuate his silent request, he reclined back onto the couch and tugged his wife down along with him, ignoring the increased weight brought on by her lying atop his upper body and laying his head back on the arm rest to find a comfy spot.

Just when she thought everything was going great, it all came crashing down for Cameron. Some light touching and caresses underneath the blanket was fine, nobody could see that. But now, it was obvious to everyone in the room what they were doing. She found that thought...unsettling. She knew John wanted the others to accept her, as well as his choice to spend his life with her, but there was such a thing as too far too fast.

Her face formed in to a frown as she hovered above him, not sure how to proceed.

Not at all liking the fact she still seemed to be reluctant to just be herself, John could only shake his head, leaning up to close the gap and kiss her gently, lowering his voice because of a quite moment in the movie, "We're going to be stuck in a bunker with these people for a year Cameron. You're my wife... there's nothing wrong with this."

Still feeling more than a little reluctant, but being encouraged by his words at the same time, Cameron had a last look around the room. Satisfied that everyone was paying more attention to the movie than them, she leaned down a little closer. Bringing her lips to his, she kissed him. Softly, slowly, as if the world might suddenly come screeching to a halt if she pressed any harder.

Dooley was the first to notice the odd squelching sound off to his left, literally having to adjust his half-asleep girlfriend to glance over her head, not in the least having expected to see his boss nibbling along the side of a cyborg's neck, hands running up and down her back under the blanket covering most of their bodies.

After a few seconds of slack-jawed gawking, he poked Claudia in the ribs and tossed his chin towards the couch, adding in his own unique, and loud, version of a stage whisper, "Hey, babe. You gotta check this out."

Craning her neck as best she could, Claudia struggled to see what he was trying to point out. After a few moments, she huffed in defeat and switched sides on top of him, taking a small hint of amusement as her knee caught him in his gut. She was halfway to a much needed sleep when he'd woken her up, this had better be worth it...and it was.

Her jaw literally dropped open at the sight of Connor and his wife making out like they weren't in a room full of people who hated said wife's metal guts.

"Damn, keep it in the fucking bedroom!" she whispered quietly to Dooley, or rather, what she considered a whisper. Still, she settled in watching them, satisfied at having finally found something to entertain her more than the movie.

Despite the fact he's stick his dick in a tepid hole in the ground, and he'd caught himself staring at Cameron on more than one occasion - at least until his girlfriend had smacked him upside the head - Dooley had never really considered her human, or anything close to that.

Which was why he was having a very difficult time reconciling his idea of what Cameron was with the look he could make out on her face, "Is she... it actually looks like she's enjoying it."

By now, even O'Brien, on the far side of the Dooley and Claudia had perked up at the sudden commotion beside her. In fact, she'd perked up so much that she was practically leaning over the couple to get a better view of Connor and his wife. Her head tilted to the side in an odd imitation of Cameron. "Are...are her eyes glowing?"

For the first time, Claudia stopped being interested and started getting frightened, visions of the blood red eyes of the guards at the work camp tearing through her head, fingers tightening noticeably on Dooley's upper arms, "What's she doing?"

Dooley, despite being an insensitive asshole at times, knew all about Claudia's fear of the machines, her past being well known to him. Bringing one hand up higher, he started gently rubbing her back in a way he hoped was comforting. "You alright babe?"

Though she wanted to bolt for the door and just get the hell away before the machine snapped and took Connor and the rest of them down with her, Claudia couldn't manage to tear her eyes away from what she was watching.

The machine's back arched when John's hand seemed to find a particularly sensitive spot, a very human moan drifting across the room. She didn't know what she'd imagined when considering the fact Connor slept with the thing... but she hadn't expected _this_.

Machines didn't feel. Machines didn't have emotions. It made them cold, heartless... it made them do what they did to her. But if Cameron could feel, if Cameron could love, what about the machines that had taken half a decade of her young life?

Had they enjoyed it when they tormented and killed her friends and family? She unconsciously found herself clutching at Dooley, shaking in anger and barely suppressed terror.

Dooley felt his girlfriend gripping him tighter and felt her entire body shaking against his. He wrapped both arms around her and held her close. Whispering soothingly in to her ear, he made sure to keep up the movement of his hand on her back. "It's Connor's wife...I'm sure he knows what he's doing with her."

The conversation now screwing up his viewing experience, Derek finally decided he'd had enough of the squelching and moaning he'd been sporadically hearing for the past fifteen minutes, not bothering to look over as he tossed a cushion towards the recliner he'd seen Coons and Carmack take up residence in earlier. "You want me to get the hose? Keep that shit in your bunk!"

Holding up his hands defensively, Dooley could barely keep himself from bursting out with laughter, despite what was going on with Claudia. "Hey, for once it's not us LT!"

He nodded towards the couch where it looked like the future savior of humanity was currently having his lips sucked off his face by the cyborg sent back through time to protect him. Whichever way you looked at it, he was not to blame for disturbing Derek this time.

It was as if John could feel the eyes of every person in the room shift from the TV over to him and his wife, his face flushing a bit in embarrassment while he wondered just why in the hell his normally put-together and nearly omniscient significant other was apparently still too distracted to pick up on the change in atmosphere.

Carefully disentangling his hands from her tank-top, he tried his best to sit up with more than a hundred pounds of weight bearing down on his chest, "Um... Cameron?"

Frowning at the sudden loss of his hands from under her top and the unwanted displacement of her body, Cameron looked at her husband questioningly. Had she done something wrong? Everything was fine a moment ago, so why had he stopped so suddenly?

Looking around as if realizing for the first time she and her husband weren't alone in the room, Cameron at least had the good grace to look a little sheepish at her actions. "Sorry."

Sitting up and pulling him up with her, she leaned against his side and whispered in to his ear. "Do you want to finish watching the movie?"

John didn't hesitate, shaking his head and suddenly looking not in the least bit tired, "Not even a little."

Deducing from his smile that he wanted to do more than just sleep that night, Cameron unfolded her legs from beneath her and stood. In an unusual turn from tradition, she offered her hand to her man and pulled him up alongside her with a smile.

They were half way to the stairs before it was John's turn to remember there were other people in the room, pausing long enough to toss Derek the remote and an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, "All yours man. See you in the morning?"

"Sure," the older man replied, to his credit, as if all of this was the most normal thing in the world. "Orders?"

"I want everyone out there chucking supplies, snow or no snow." Smirking a bit at the shivers running through a few of the room's occupants, he wrapped an arm around Cameron's lower back absentmindedly pulling her flush with his side, "And don't blow off your rehab with Cole, she's in a bad enough mood already."

"Tell me about it." Derek replied with a not so subtle groan. He did not need that reminder before he headed off to bed.

"Have fun." John wouldn't wish a pissed off Cole on his worst enemy, but Derek seemed to be the best equipped among them to handle it, "I should be out there by 0700."

"Eight." Cameron chimed in from beside him, already subtly edging towards the stairs and pulling him along with her.

Falling into step beside her with the same goofy smile he'd had fixed on his face since dinner, John mouthed 'eight?' in her direction questioningly.

Putting on her best 'don't fuck with me John' look, Cameron nodded. She picked up her pace and soon her arm was at full stretch behind her where John remained momentarily rooted to the spot, their hands still linked.

Realizing he was probably still on shaky ground with the wife after his recent behavior, John figured an hour of extra sack time was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme, "0800 I guess. Cover for me."

With a pointless roll of his eyes, Derek grunted out a reply that he tried his best to make sound affirmative. He had no idea what the metal had planned with his nephew, and he didn't want to know either, being happy enough with that brand of bliss that only comes from ignorance.

For his part, John was already three-fourths of the way up the stairs, looking for all the world like an eager puppy, "I'll owe you one!"

"God damned right you will." Tilting back his beer, Derek's night only got worse when he realized it was empty. It looked like he wasn't going to bed in the near future either. It's not like he wasn't tired, quite the contrary, but he shared a bedroom wall with John, and his own happy place required _not_ hearing what was probably going on in there.

Dooley, having apparently forgotten about the exceptionally volatile woman nestled on his lap let out a dramatic sigh, "You see what I keep saying? Lucky bastard."

"What was that, numbnuts?" Leveling an incredulous glare at her boyfriend only after smacking him upside the head with the cushion Derek had lobbed at them earlier, Coons did not look amused, "You wanna get laid again? Ever?"

"Hey!" Tossing the potentially deadly object over to the now vacated couch, Carmack could only shake his head a bit, "I'm still in shock over here, cut me a little slack."

Amanda couldn't help but agree, nodding along numbly, "Was she... under the blanket? Why the hell would a machine do that?"

"She's his wife." Reed, who had still been trying to focus on the movie up to this point, finally gave up on the dream, finishing off his beer and standing to head out to the barracks for the night, "What would you do?"

"Uh, nothing?" Eying the man like he'd just sprouted a second head and asked her to call him Lucy, O'Brien shivered a little, "Men are fucking disgusting."

Catching the bemused look Derek was shooting her way, she could only offer a one-shouldered shrug, "Sorry, LT. Would you wanna sleep with one?"

"Good point." Flipping through the channels with a lopsided nod, Reese kicked up the legs on the recliner and settled in for the long haul, "I'm calling it a night too. You heard the man, 0600 or I'm sending Cole in to drag you out."

Despite a grumble or two, Dooley leveraged himself up out of the chair, taking Claudia right along with him and depositing her gently onto her feet, careful to leave a steadying hand on her shoulder. Despite the bravado, she still hadn't entirely recovered from her wounds. "Least he could do is drag his ass out into that blizzard at the same time. Not like he needs the extra time for healin' up, everything seems to be workin' just fine if ya know what I mean."

Coons gave him a pointed look and a quick poke to the ribs, clearly at a loss with the big oaf, "You really are pushing your luck, you know that?"

"Hey," Tossing his hands up and going for good-natured, his little joke was destined from the beginning to fall a few steps short of the mark, "Some of our girlfriends have recently lost internal organs. Now, I'm not gonna bring up any names, but lets just say it's led to some frustration in the ranks."

"Ohhhhhhh," And there it was, the tone that told him explicitly how much bowing and scraping would be involved before he could see her naked again, "So now I'm not putting out enough for you? I'm sorry my life-threatening injury impacted your dick, Dooley, how can I ever make it up to you?"

Realizing all was lost didn't stop him from flailing a bit on the way down, justifying himself until the very end, "I just think it's sad when the cyborg is getting more play than I am."

"Well... I..." So pissed off even she couldn't think of a scathing enough reply, Claudia fell back on O'Brien's earlier response concerning dinner, "Well if you love the metal so much why don't you just march up there and ask Connor for a little piece of that action? Cause you're sure as fuck not getting any here for a long-ass time!"

No sooner had the screen door slammed shut in her wake than Dooley turned plaintively back towards Derek, confusion predominating, "What? What did I say?"

Shaking her head sadly, O'Brien handed off the dumb son of a bitch's coat with a pitying slap on the shoulder, "Looks like you're on the couch tonight buddy."

"Dammit." Shrugging into his coat with a petulant frown, Carmack followed a few steps behind, "Weather is freezing, Cole is on the warpath, the cyborg is getting lucky, and I'm sleeping on the couch. This week _sucks_!"

* * *

TBC

Author's note: Again, sorry for the long gap between updates, real life stuff has been a trip lately. Hopefully the length made up for it just a little. With the holidays coming up, I hope I'll have a bit more free time to crank out something substantial. J-Day is just around the corner, and it only gets more interesting from there.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review, believe it or not your interest really keeps me motivated and focused on the story.


	28. Chapter 28

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 28/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 10/28/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 14th, 2011  
0728hrs

Despite the cold seeping in from every corner of the antiquated, and frankly, dilapidated, farm house they had been using as a base of operations for the better part of a year, John found himself toasty warm when he started to drift back from a much needed couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Was he tired? Sure.

Was he sore? You'd better believe it.

But he was warm, content, and more relaxed than he could remember being in years. John could feel the smile stretch across his face even before he'd opened his eyes, using the arm still wrapped around his wife's slim waist to pull her tighter in to his side, "Mmmm... morning."

Cameron tilted her head to regard him for a moment before dropping a soft kiss on her husband's chest. Draping one leg over his, she snuggled closer in to his side and picked her head up off his chest to look at him with a smile. "Good morning John. Did you sleep well?"

"You tell me." Letting his eyes adjust to the early morning light with a smirk, John found himself leaning up to drop a slow, lingering kiss on Cameron's lips, "I was asleep."

Pulling back from the kiss with a smile, she laid her head back down comfortably on his chest, letting the now familiar rhythm of his heart wash over her. As she ghosted her fingertips along his flank, Cameron made note of how her wedding ring glimmered in the sunlight streaming in through the part in the curtains. The symbol of her love for John never ceased to please her every time she looked at it, taking a satisfaction in it she never would have thought possible from chunks of a precious mineral faceted within a metallic frame.

Her entire mental diversion amounting to roughly a tenth of a second in real time, Cameron was still able to answer John's question without a noticeable pause. "For the two hours you actually slept, you slept well."

Nodding slowly, still reluctant to make any sharp movements before he had an opportunity to gauge just how bad the kinks in his neck and shoulders really were, John cuddled in closer, running his hand gently along the smooth skin of Cameron's lower back, "What time is it?"

Double checking her chronometer, while trying to suppress a shiver from the contact, Cameron reached down and tugged the sheets a little higher, the cool morning temperature would start to reach John soon, and that just wouldn't do. It was well known that the human immune response was significantly hampered when exposed to temperature extremes, and frankly, in her opinion, her husband already spent far too much time traipsing around in the snow as it was. "It's seven thirty two."

"Still got a little time then." Smiling in appreciation, John flipped his weight suddenly, surprisingly limber for this early in the morning, and settling over top of Cameron while grinning down at her, "Last night was... perfect."

Smiling up at her husband, Cameron drew both her hands down his chest and over his stomach, tracing the outline of his muscles with her fingertips. She took immense delight in feeling them contract of their own accord under her touch. "I'm glad you appreciate it."

She leaned up for another kiss, a kiss that quickly turned passionate, one of her hands found itself on the back of his head, pulling him down to her nearly on instinct.

John found himself chuckling low in his throat while trying to catch his breath, pupils dilating to the point of nearly blocking out all the color in his eyes. Cameron had always enjoyed their time together, but the way she was reacting the night before was almost what he'd call 'human'. "Really... again?"

"Don't you want to?" Her question would've made him falter, if it weren't for the way her pout slowly formed in to a devilish grin, and her hands resumed their motion along his flanks.

"Of course I want to." He only shake his head, amusement clearly visible despite the shivers running through his body as Cameron continued her work, "Just not sure my body is going to cooperate."

"Perhaps a shower would help?" With that, Cameron managed to work her way out from underneath him, but not before dropping a kiss on his lips. She stood beside the bed and held her hand out to him, her expression and eyes showing a hunger he'd rarely ever seen before.

For all his vaunted intelligence, for all his supposed leadership ability, all John Connor could manage in the face of that kind of invitation was a goofy smile and a mumbled, "Shower... good."

Snagging Cameron's hand and letting her pull him up to a standing position, John didn't wait for the bathroom before pulling her back to him, ignoring the cold of the room while running his hands over every spare inch of flesh he could find.

Using her not inconsiderable strength, Cameron maneuvered him around and started pushing backwards towards the bathroom, making sure to keep her lips latched on to his the entire way. All she could think of at that moment was that she wanted John. There was no reason, no purpose, she simply wanted him, and she wanted him _now_. "I love you, John."

John's attack only stalled when his back smacked flush into the closed bathroom door, grinning at his wife and quirking an unconscious brow at the look on her face. While Cameron had always enjoyed their time together, it had seemed to bring her a kind of relaxed contentment. Now... she looked _hungry_.

"I love you too." Reaching up to brush some of the hair displaced by their make out session behind her ear, he smiled, "Is everything... alright?"

Cameron paused for just a moment, her mind running on a totally different track to her husband's. After a couple of seconds of staring up in to his eyes, she practically launched herself at him, her lips seeking his out almost desperately. A loud thud filled the room as his back once again hit the door with more force than a moment ago.

"I love you...John...I love you." The words were murmured in between kisses as her hands gripped at what little fat was available on his midriff for her to grab on to, pulling him down so he was as flush against her as was physically possible given the obvious height difference.

Despite getting a little worried at Cameron's frantic behavior, it was really hard for John to concentrate on much of anything with his wife grinding against him like that, "I... believe you."

"But..." John's grin deflated slightly, tossing a thumb over his shoulder towards the door, "Handle... back."

Instead of stepping back sheepishly like he expected, Cameron literally moved John out of the way, almost yanking the ancient door off it's hinges when she opened it. Satisfied it was open, she resumed her attack on him, using her body to move him in to the bathroom with her in a flurry of flailing limbs and muttered words.

John was forced to admit that was an interesting way to solve the problem, even if he did resent being tossed around like a rag-doll. Still, their current activities weren't exactly without their upsides, any worries about his body not cooperating with their plans had long since skipped out the window. "Can't see... lights."

Not bothering to detach from him, Cameron stuck an arm out and slammed her hand in to the light switch. They flickered on a moment later, and if John had been paying more attention, he might have noticed a crack on the switch, as well as the wall behind it.

"Thank you." Smirking, John decided he was done with being led around like a puppy on a leash, for the first time flexing the new muscles he'd been building in the gym over the last year.

Wrapping both arms around her slender waist, he couldn't help but grin at the way her eyes widened in shock as he hefted her until both feet left the tile floor and deposited her on the counter beside the sink, not wasting a second before leaning in to attack her chest.

Cameron arched her back to give him greater access to wherever he wanted to go. Not settling for being that passive however, she placed one hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer, using the other to take hold of his hand and roughly pulling it around to her spine, taking care to place his fingers exactly where she wanted them, just over the lower most vertebrae.

Releasing a low groan, she used the hand on his head to grab a handful of hair and pulled his head back so she could kiss him again.

"You _really_ like that spot, don't you?" Despite his laughter, John wasted no time in going to work on her lower back, massaging in slow circles just the way his wife seemed to enjoy the most.

As expected, Cameron stiffened and shivered from the contact, her mouth hanging open ever so slightly as her eyes screwed shut. She wrapped her legs around his hips and crossed them behind his backside, pulling him in tight to her, trying to acheive as much contact possible.

"John..." Rather than her usual confident voice, her remark came out as little more than a breathy moan, "Please."

"Mmmmhhmmm," Though perfectly aware that he should probably be worried, it was a very small voice in the back of John's brain currently trying to scream that at him, the horny nineteen year old voice in the front of his head drowning it out with ease, "What do you want, Cameron?"

Slowly opening her eyes, she looked down at him with nothing short of desire on her face. She reached around to her back and placed her hand on top of his where it continued it's slow massage, pushing his hand firmer in to her spine, while lowering her head to resume kissing him.

She kissed his lips, she kissed his jaw, she kissed just behind his earlobe. Eventually she found her way to that spot on his neck she knew he loved so much. All this time, her other hand had been on a steady journey down, in between their bodies.

_Okay_, apparently she was just going to show him what she wanted. John couldn't say that thought bothered him overly much at the moment, groaning loudly when her free hand finally made contact with it's goal. "Fuck... Cameron."

Frowning, if only because her human didn't seem to be taking the hint, she shuffled her body forward on the counter and released her legs just a little, hopefully giving him sufficient room to work. Deciding it may take a change in tactics if she wanted him to pick up on what she wanted, and it was pretty obvious what she wanted, she leaned in for a smoldering, slow kiss, in stark contrast to the frantic desire she'd previously shown.

Not half as dense as his wife often thought him, John brought them together with more force than he usually did, Cameron's intensity starting to rub off on him at last, "What's gotten into you this morning?"

"You have...finally." Locking her legs around him again, Cameron tightened them down like a vice, forcing him closer. She wrapped one arm around his back while the other returned to her own spine, laying it on top of his as a not so subtle reminder to keep up his movement.

John needed the reminder, his brain going to mush the way it usually did when they finally got around to the main event, having more than a little difficulty trying to move in Cameron's vice-like grip, "Um...Cam? Little help here?"

What started out as a sigh of impatience quickly turned in to a growl of frustration. Releasing her legs just a little, Cameron waited until John was just where she wanted him, then tightened them again, bringing him to her whether he wanted to or not.

Pleased that he'd eventually taken the hint about her spine, she finally released the hand on top of his and brought it up to cup his face. Cameron eagerly latched her lips on to his, seemingly trying to ram her tongue as far down his mouth as she could.

John, for his part, seemed more than a little confused about how this was supposed to work if he wasn't allowed to move, but wasn't really in a position for rational dialogue at the moment - the obvious downside of the blood needed for thought being in short supply for the foreseeable future. He settled for returning her kiss just as forcefully, working his free hand into her hair while the other sped up it's movement around her spine, "Did you just growl at me?"

Rather than answer with words, she repeated her earlier movement of releasing her grip on his hips with her legs, waited for him to pull back, then slammed him roughly back towards her. All the time releasing a low moan down his throat.

John was just about to start questioning Cameron's behavior, despite the pleasant side-effects, when a loud pounding echoed from the door to the bedroom that had them both turning to face the source of the unwanted interruption.

Cole's attitude obviously hadn't improved since the last time John had seen her, doing a pretty good imitation of Cameron's earlier growl, "Johnny! We've got a problem!"

Rather than waiting for her dear husband to respond, Cameron slammed her hand against the unlocked door while holding a glare at John that practically dared him to speak.

"What do you want? We're busy!" She yelled in the direction of the door and, not exactly coincidentally, the bitchwhore on the other side.

John could only stand there mutely, positive only of the fact that he probably had a really goofy look in his face, clearly torn between amusement and shock at Cameron's actions.

Darla found herself glaring at the door, words from a conversation she'd had with Derek months earlier springing straight to mind, "Oh. I see we're starting the 'telling me is the same as telling Connor' thing early this time-line."

Finally pivoting her glare towards the door instead of John, Cameron looked like she was about ready to break something. Or someone.

"Answer my question..." She appeared poised to say something else, and was seriously considering using a term for the good Corporal that Rachel had assured her was appropriate. Unfortunately, chewing out her husband's subordinated wouldn't be considered 'normal'. It made her wonder what John found so appealing about the perception of normal to begin with.

"Perry just showed up in the fucking barracks and he needs to see Connor ASAP." Darla at last let slip a true growl of her own, clearly unhappy about having to pass the word through John's metal. "Like I said - we have a problem!"

Hearing the flustered tone in his XO's voice, John frowned pointedly, "Cameron... maybe you should let me handle..."

"He'll be there when he's ready... Corporal." Without waiting for John to say anything to the contrary, Cameron leaned down and sought his tongue like it contained the cure for cancer. At the same time she roughly grabbed his hand again, intent on making him resume the pressure on her spine, regardless of the fact that Cole was standing outside.

"Perry ain't like to wait until he's ready!" Darla's answer was accompanied by another round of banging, "Every minute he's here is a minute we risk being exposed before J-day!"

John went wide-eyed at Cameron's response, still having a fair amount of difficulty concentrating on the problem at hand while intimately connected to his wife, "Cameron... she can hear us in here."

Lowering her head, she wasted no time in attacking his neck with her lips, seemingly trying to cover every inch. When she did finally get around to responding, her voice was muffled against his skin, "Tell her...to go...away."

"It sounds pretty important Cameron." Despite himself, John found his hand resuming it's slow circles on her spine almost out of instinct. He loved his wife, he wanted her to be happy more than anything, but for the life of him he couldn't understand why she suddenly seemed to be forgetting about his responsibilities.

Hell, she was the one who used to preach to him nearly as often as Derek. "If Perry's here, we've got a problem."

"Is he...more important...than me?" Cameron managed to get the words out with her head buried in the crook of his neck, at the same time she resumed the movements of her legs, encouraging him to resume his rhythm.

"Of course not." John barely managed to gasp the words out, wanting nothing more than to finish what they started, his body telling his mind to get the fuck out of it's way already. "But I'm not just your John... I'm their Connor. That's important."

She paused her assault on his neck just long enough to look at him with something of an annoyed look on her face. Curiously though, she kept up the movement of her legs while she talked. "You're leaving to go with her, aren't you?"

"I'm leaving to do my job." He raised her annoyed look with a pleading one of his own. _Why couldn't she understand this_? "It's not like I want to."

Cameron released another low growl, this time however, it was definitely born of annoyance rather than desire. Unclenching her legs and letting them hang to either side of her husband, the cyborg could feel her head quirking to the side in barely contained frustration. "Then stay."

Standing in the middle of the bathroom, naked, bare feet on the cold tile and the air now hitting his sweaty skin everywhere, John couldn't help but shiver, "I'll be back as soon as I can, Cameron. I have to deal with this."

"Johnny!" Darla paused only a moment to toss a sheepish and obviously forced smile at a groggy Sarah Connor, who was herself quirking an eyebrow at the soldier as she passed the bathroom on the way downstairs for breakfast. Still not comfortable being around the woman that knocked her silly with virtually no effort, Cole did her best to just ignore the elder Connor. Once she'd cleared the space she banged again, harder this time, "Get your ass in gear soldier! We are on the clock!"

"GO AWAY!" Shoving John back less than gently and hopping up from her position on the counter in one smooth, lithe motion, Cameron practically screamed at the door, again slamming her hand on it to keep it closed. She glared at the wood as if it was responsible for breaking up her morning sex, rather than the woman on the other side.

"Cameron!" John shook his head, his worry about her worsening mental state outweighing anything the sex had brought out in him, fighting the urge to step between his wife and the door before she had a chance to yank it open and vent her frustrations directly on the woman unfortunate enough to be occupying the other side. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'll be down there in five, Cole." Smacking his own hand into the door, John did his best to put on his still-fledgling Connor voice, "Think you can keep him occupied that long, or is that too much of a stretch for your abilities, Major?"

Cameron only stood and glared. It would've been comical to see her standing there naked with her hand on the door and glaring, but there was something not quite right about the way she was looking. Her expression seemed to grow darker by the moment.

"Yeah," Darla snorted from the other side of the door, making sure to grumble loud enough that John would make it out on the other side, "Keep Perry occupied. Wonderful use of my _many_ spectacular talents. Why didn't I think of that?"

John frowned, waiting until the soldier's voice had trailed off down the stairs before stepping back towards Cameron a little hesitantly, "Hey... are you okay?"

"I'm fine John," Hearing the major leaving their bedroom, Cameron twisted the door handle and calmly strode out in to the room. Without a backwards glance, she made her way to the dresser and started pulling out her clothes for the day. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed... different this morning." Despite the oddly sudden change in her behavior, John was increasingly reluctant to risk putting her back in the foul mood she'd been in a moment before by pressing her too hard for information. After all, 'don't poke the bear' was _his_ advice.

"Was that a bad thing?" Instead of her usual innocent curiosity, Cameron sounded slightly accusatory. He had enjoyed it just as much as she had and they both knew it.

"No." Knowing that trying to lie to Cameron would be useless, John just confirmed it with a quick nod, stepping into their room and gathering up his discarded 'uniform' from the laundry basket. He had a feeling Perry expected at least some degree of professionalism, even from a teenage Resistance leader, "I'm just wondering why."

"I didn't think I needed a reason to want sex with my husband." She gracefully slid in to her underwear and walked to the closet to pull out her own version of a uniform. "Am I wrong?"

"Of course not." John stopped to frown while buttoning up his fatigues, not at all used to Cameron using logic to head off his emotions. That was usually his job. "You just... it's never been like that before. Did you hear the sounds you were making? We've had sex plenty of times, I've never gotten that kind of reaction before."

Cameron frowned behind the open closet door. John had never seen that side of her before, and the first thing it did was make him think something was wrong. Was that what he truly thought of her, that she was supposed to be passive, submissive? One show of aggression during sex and suddenly he thought she was defective? Still mostly obscured by the closet door, her husband couldn't see the sardonic look on her face. Which was probably for the best. "Perhaps your proficiency is improving."

"I guess..." Not really wanting to risk pissing her off again, John pulled his shirt on quickly and flopped back onto the bed to get his boots on, "I did enjoy it. But then again, you already know that, don't you?"

The thought of 'if you were enjoying it so much, why are you running away?', quickly flashed through Cameron's CPU. Fortunately she managed to reign that impulse in before it managed to creep out. Unfortunately, in her haste, she'd gripped the shirt she was intending to wear for the day and tried to tug it off the hanger. Instead of it coming free, she'd pulled with so much force that the garment ripped along one of the seams and cracked the flimsy plastic hanger.

A strange feeling flooded her systems. A sense of contentment, a sense of satisfaction. She'd broken something, and she felt good about it.

Quickly hiding the evidence by tucking the hanger back on the rail, Cameron poked her head out from behind the door. "Have a nice day at work John."

"Thanks." Finishing off his boots and hopping to his feet, John was more than a little confident that whatever had triggered Cameron's odd behavior this morning had worked itself out. Just by looking at her he could tell she was feeling better, "I love you. And I promise, I'll make this up to you tonight."

"You'd better." She stood on her toes and dropped a chaste kiss on his lips, then watched him jog out the door and down the stairs, already yelling orders through the house.

Now all alone, and still standing in her underwear, she had all sorts of thoughts running through her CPU like errant dust-devils. Primary amongst those was the fact that her John, her husband had once again ran off at the call of Corporal Cole. Or rather _Major_ Cole as it now seemed. Lorne had called her his XO the last time they spoke, and obviously John hadn't felt it that it was important enough to notify her of the woman's promotion.

Strolling over to John's work desk, she ran her hand over the smooth surface until it came in to contact with a lone hard drive resting beside his laptop. Picking it up and turning it over in her hands, she suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to reduce this this thing to nothing more than a ball of twisted metal...

So that's what she did. Using both hands, she squeezed the drive and watched it fold like a piece of paper in her impossibly strong hands. Shards of metal and plastic snapped off, some even pierced the skin of her hands, but she just kept on crushing. The impulses flooding her system, informing her of the damage to her synthetic flesh was easily outweighed by the contentment the action seemed to fill her with.

Catching her reflection in a mirror, she found she was smiling. The simple act of breaking the drive had driven away the bad thoughts and replaced them with a feeling of emotional contentment, a feeling of calm.

And she liked it.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 14th, 2011  
1401hrs

It was rare these days that anyone could make John Connor feel like a scolded child, to put so much as a dent in the cocky smile and the slightly exaggerated gait he seemed to slip into automatically when in the presence of his soldiers. It wasn't a power trip, though he'd laid awake many a night wondering that himself in the beginning. It wasn't even that he was trying to do so in some Quixotic effort to fill the old General's shoes in their eyes - he'd long ago drawn a clear line separating the two in their minds.

No. It was simply the physical manifestation of the subconscious knowledge that for the first time in his life, John really was the most dangerous man in most rooms. Oh, there were more than a few humans littering the planet who could wipe the floor with him individually, which that dickwad Dimitri had gone to great pains to show him. But they didn't have his soldiers.

John had seen resistance cells from Peru to Columbia when he'd been growing up, and he recognized the qualities that allowed outgunned peasants to overrun empires - and his men had it in spades. Were they tactful? No. Were they respectful? Not so much. Were the undisciplined? It sure seemed that way at times.

But he'd seen them in action, he'd led them into battle, and he knew exactly what they were capable of. Despite all their faults, despite all their personality quirks, they were probably the most frightening human beings John had ever known, especially when compared against those who might stand in their way. Their enemies had rules. Their enemies had restrictions. Hell, their enemy had _limits_.

People who have never stared extinction in the face just don't understand the kind of fanatical response it elicits, but all you have to do is crack a history book on warfare to find more examples than you could count. Thermopylae. Stalingrad. Bastogne. Camaron. Rorke's Drift.

There is a point that once you push past, a man simply stops caring about things like death and suffering. They learn to accept them as facts of life as innocuous as rain or wind. As Seneca had so wisely pointed out, 'constant exposure to danger will breed contempt for it,' and his men had contempt in fucking droves.

But, despite all of that knowledge, all of that bluster, all of that clout handed backwards in time from his future self, when Captain Justin Perry leaned forward and slammed his palms down on the table not three feet from John's face, he nearly pissed himself. The guy was just that intimidating when in a full-on rage.

"That is the _dumbest_ fucking idea I've ever heard!" Craning his neck like a bird of prey seeking out it's next meal, Perry focused on the first 'adult' he could find, which unfortunately for Derek, happened to be him. "And you encourage this shit? The kid is obviously in way over his head here!"

"In his defense," Shrugging like the Captain's attitude was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, which if his nephew had known Perry in the future, he would have understood, Reese had to fight the urge to glance at his watch, "The ideas that sound really stupid to start off with usually work out better for us than the ones that sound smart."

"Thanks so much, Derek." Rolling his eyes while shoving his empty coffee mug around the table in slow circles, John was pretty much at the end of his rope, "Listen, Perry, this is what we've got to work with. You sprung this shit on me less than 12 hours ago and now you're gonna complain that the plan isn't good enough for you?"

"Not good enough?" Justin's scoff carried all the way to the upper floor of the barracks, "It's suicide!"

"Again," Pinching the bridge of his nose, trying desperately not to let the events of the day coupled with Perry's attitude push him into saying something he might regret, John chose his words carefully. Even if they were ground out between clenched teeth, "I'm not the one who barged in here with a list of demands. So, how about you cut me a little slack here, Captain?"

Cole, who had been twirling a ballpoint around her fingers aimlessly for the last half hour, glanced up just long enough to toss out her totally unneeded two cents, "It was a really long list, too."

"Darla..."

"No John!" Slapping the pen down on the table with a clatter, his new XO glowered across the table at a still fuming Perry, "He's just like he was in the future - full of shit! The guy thinks the sun rises and sets out of his ass and I'm tired of putting up with it."

"Major..."

John's second attempt to intercede, rank included, didn't garner any better results than the first attempt, Cole now slipping into a full-blown rant, "We put, hell _I _put, more than six fucking months of work into our J-day accommodations! This guy waltzes in here like he owns the place, less than a month before the bombs drop, and totally FUBARs our plans in about five minutes. Then he has the nerve to stand there and complain about our compromise?"

"Fuck it." Slumping back into her chair with a dramatic sigh, Darla folded her arms over her chest resolutely, "I say we just let 'em burn. We don't need this headache."

"Well sweetheart," Justin's attitude wasn't improving, his words a barely controlled sneer, "It's a good thing we've got the _General_ here to make the decisions then, isn't it."

"No." That single word, that single syllable, seemed to bring the entire table to a screeching halt. John hadn't raised his voice, he hadn't even moved, in fact, he'd spoken so quietly that the ensuing silence owed more to everyone else's desire to make out his words than it did any kind of intimidation, "She's right."

"She's..." Perry couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Right?"

"I trust my people's judgment, _Captain._" John allowed himself to sneer back, just a little, "Like any good commanding officer. Major Cole is right - under these circumstances, it's in our best interest to let you and yours burn on Judgment Day."

"You have got to be fucking with me," The older man had long-since ceased his posturing, the sudden change of events knocking the bluster out of him in the space of seconds, "You can't just..."

Connor cut him off with the wave of a hand, done letting the soldier dictate the terms of this negotiation. HE was the fucking General, and it was time he started acting like it, "Cole, why don't you break it down for him. Use small words, it might help."

"With pleasure, sir." Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Darla leaned back into her chair, casually drumming her fingers along the edge of the table. "All you bring to the table are your Rangers, Perry. Frankly, fighters won't be all that hard to come by once the majority of what's left of the human race learns it can either fight back or face extinction."

"Now, you might think you're holding the cards here because you've got a couple dozen grunts you don't think we'll have to retrain." Cole rolled her eyes dramatically, "But you're fucking _wrong._ You see, right now, you and your men are just a shade less useless than a platoon of librarians. Sure, you know how to shoot. You know how to fight. Big fucking deal, Rambo - you ain't fighting humans anymore."

"All your toys, all your gizmos, all your air support and satellite navigation - it's about to disappear. And without it? You and your boys aren't all that much more effective than any group of mercenaries with AKs, and you're about half as effective as the Resistance fighters you keep talking down to like children."

Summarizing her argument in typical Cole style, she paused just long enough to flip out a cigar and light it, exhaling smoke a bit more forcefully than necessary to give Perry just a taste of how she really felt about him, "Keeping you and your people alive at this point is charity, and beggars can't be choosers. Am I making myself crystal fucking clear?"

Glancing back between the cocky Resistance fighter and her stone-faced CO, Perry stewed for a good thirty seconds before nodding crisply, his one-word reply forced from between clenched teeth, "Understood."

"Fantastic!" Slapping a flat palm down on the oak tabletop, John leveraged himself up with an easy smile, as if their previous arguments had never even happened, "So, I'll drop you a line just as soon as we're ready to move. The black-out window will be relatively short - less than twenty-four hours, so we're gonna have to move fast."

"You should start moving the civilians to Colorado as quickly as possible, just keep it in small groups, and make up some bullshit about family vacations or something," John shrugged, snagging the sweatshirt he'd been wearing since his jacket was totaled in Armenia from the back of his chair and closing up his laptop.

Perry rose to his feet, still easily towering over the 19 year old across the table from him, "You really think you can pull this off?"

"I think we don't have a choice." Tossing a grateful smile to his departing XO, John led the Captain towards the front door, motioning to the list of names in his hand, "You want these people to live through J-day?"

"They're our families." Now trying to be diplomatic, Justin kept the majority of his growl contained to his throat, "Of course we want them to live."

"I understand." Stopping in the doorway, Connor pivoted on a heel and stopped the older man dead in his tracks, face to face, "Now it's your turn to understand. This is the only facility within reach that can sustain more than 100 people for the year necessary to ride out the worst of the fallout. When Skynet begins to seize control of the defense grid, there will be a total communications blackout in nearly every NATO-aligned country for 12-24 hours before the attack. Telecommunications, television, radio, everything. It doesn't want us to communicate, to figure out what it's about to do, and we can use that to our advantage."

Perry shook his head slowly, the kid's fierce conviction making it hard to keep doubting, "This is an American facility. My men won't want to..."

"That's why we need those uniforms, Perry." Slapping the Captain on the back, John's voice took on the energy it only seemed to carry when discussing some new plan to take down Skynet, "You think I wanna charge in their, guns blazing? Every one of those soldiers guarding the facility are another potential Resistance fighter. I want them alive, Captain... I want them on our side. Besides, the defenses are a far cry from their Cold War heyday. If things go the way I hope they will, the way I think they will, by the time anyone realizes what went wrong... we'll be sitting on a beach, earning twenty percent."

"I thought we were..."

"Just forget it." John shook his head good-naturedly, "Was watching Die Hard with Cameron last night. Listen, I've proven to you that what I'm telling you about the future is true. You've trusted me with the lives of your men, and now the lives of their families. But now comes the hard part, Captain... you have to trust that I'm really who and what I say I am. That I'll lead you through this right to the end, that I'm so damn good that I'll not only bring all of humanity together for the first time in history, but I'll toss Skynet's ass back into the hell it came from."

"And if decide you don't believe that," Shoving the door open with a shoulder, John slapped the man on the shoulder one last time before making his way towards the house, not bothering to glance back, "You're no fucking good to me anyways."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 14th, 2011  
0949hrs

Rachel came barreling in from the cold with her usual lack of decorum, stomping a thick layer of snow and mud accumulated during her morning patrol off onto the mat in the entryway and trudging into the kitchen in search of liquid sustenance - hopefully of the very hot variety.

It wasn't like she didn't understand the need for heightened security, especially with Perry barging through the door this morning, but that didn't mean she liked stomping around in snowdrifts nearly reaching her knees for hours on end. That sucked pretty much no matter who you were.

Rounding the bar and making a beeline for the coffee pot, Lorne caught sight of her cybernetic best friend bent over a sewing project, apparently the jacket her husband had been wearing in Armenia. Rachel was a little shocked the blood had come out in the first place, but it seemed to be in decent shape despite the collection of tears along the back.

"Hey Cameron." Shrugging off images of her boss sprawled across the pavement, Rachel managed a mostly-genuine smile and an enthusiastic pat on the back before snatching up her chipped novelty cup with 'Hot Shit' written on the side from where she'd left it after breakfast that morning, "You look..."

Quirking her head to the side in an odd imitation of the cyborg in question, she trailed off a bit as the thought occurred to her. After all, she'd never thought about this particular word relating to her friend before, "...Tired?"

Cameron only looked up from her work for a moment, and it was only to regard the spot on her shoulder Rachel had slapped when walking past, her tone oddly clipped, "I don't Sleep."

"Well," Shrugging while emptying the dregs of the pot into her cup, Rachel hopped up onto the counter and let her legs swing freely, "Looks like maybe you could use a little."

"I _don't_ require sleep!" Her voice raising just a little, Cameron had to suppress a growl of frustration. Why couldn't humans just let something drop after they'd been told the first time? It was a maddening character fault nearly all of them seemed prone to.

"Alright! Sheesh." Rachel just shook her head with a smirk, tossing her knit hat onto the counter beside her and trying to run a few fingers through her hopelessly tangled hair, "How was date night?"

Cameron released a very human-sounding sigh, apparently deciding to humor the woman - if only to get her to leave her in peace. She liked Rachel, she really did... except today. Her chipper attitude was grating on her nerves in a way it never had before, and that realization only made her emotional state worse. The cyborg wasn't stupid, she realized something was wrong with her, and every time it manifested itself and reminded her of that fact, it only served to make her more apprehensive. "It was fine. We had dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed."

"Sorry I couldn't make it." Nodding side to side, Rachel frowned at a burr she'd found in her hair before tossing it into the trashcan, "Shit time to pull guard duty, huh? Poor Greg's paws were little icicles by the time I got her back to the barracks."

Cameron tilted her head distractedly, trying to keep her focus on the sewing in front of her, "Frostbite and pneumonia would have set in long before the canine's paws turned to icicles."

"Well, they were covered in ice. She must've spent an hour and a half licking it all off." Snorting in the most unladylike manner Cameron had seen outside of Coons, Rachel let out a long sigh, "Still more action than I've seen in the last six months though."

"You wish to have your hands and feet licked by a dog?" Yes, Cameron decided, 'grating' was definitely the appropriate term.

"Um... no?" Chalking up the failure to communicate to her friend's unique sense of humor, Rachel clarified with a sheepish smile, "But a human being? Other places? Yeah... I've missed that. Come on, you like what you have with John, right? Is it so weird to imagine I might want that for myself?"

Cameron actually did turn away from her work at that, the look on her face decidedly unpleasant, "You wish for John to lick your body?"

"John? No!" Despite her snap judgment at the human's words, the sixteen different shades of red Lorne was turning seemed to imply she was telling the truth, "Of course not! I mean, John is great and all, and he _does_ have that sexy 'I could kill you with my pinky' thing going on, but he's your husband."

Turning back to her work abruptly, Cameron bobbed her head a fraction of an inch, "It's good that you remember that... unlike some people."

"Ice Queen giving you trouble again?" Rachel shook her head, "Doesn't surprise me. She's been a bitch on wheels for the last few days - nearly took my head off for throwing away one of her half-smoked cigars."

For the first time Cameron could recall, she could actually sympathize with Cole. For some reason, the pitch in Lorne's voice was really bothering her this morning, "It's nothing I can't handle."

Really not wanting to go back to the barracks before Perry got the hell out of there, Rachel figured a little idle conversation wouldn't hurt anything, "Saw John a few times in the barracks. He seemed pretty relaxed."

"He is?" Realizing the strip of cloth she'd been using to patch the inner liner of John's jacket was directly underneath Lorne's ass on the counter, Cameron stood and marched over to the soldier while shaking her head, "That's... surprising."

"Why in the hell would that be surprising?" Rachel was smiling practically ear to ear, still kicking her legs like a six year old on a park bench in time with the ticking clock, "I heard you two had a 'good time' last night."

Unfortunately for the good Corporal, Cameron chose that exact moment to look up, her patented 'blank face' leveled just inches off the other woman's nose, "Who informed you of that?"

"Are you kidding?" Obviously missing sudden change in mood, Lorne was laughing softly to herself, "I thought we were gonna have to explain to Carmack where little robo-babies come from. Lemmie tell you, that would _not _have been a fun conversation."

Cameron found herself staring down at the floor, suddenly upset about the fact she couldn't provide John with offspring. Human being placed an inordinate amount of emphasis on procreation, especially when considering someone like her husband. It would be considered a great loss if the genetic line that had produced John and Sarah Connor were to die out entirely because of his choice in wives.

Then, as quickly as the sadness had arrived, it was replaced with something else. Something she'd been feeling earlier after John had departed, the same something that made her crush his hard drive into a small ball of nondescript scrap. Without even thinking about it, she snatched the strip of cloth still lodged between Lorne and the counter, almost sending her friend tumbling to the floor.

"Whoa!" Despite sloshing half of her coffee onto the floor, Rachel managed to keep herself from sliding completely over the edge, barely snagging the cabinet in time. Still, she didn't look angry at the cyborg, but more than a little concerned as she tried to reach around Cameron to grab the paper towels. "You could have just asked, ya know?"

Rachel wasn't sure if she had imagined the glare before Cameron quickly resumed her seat and got back to work, "You were in my way."

If she hadn't known she was a machine, Lorne would have sworn her friend was acting like a petulant child in the middle of a temper tantrum, pausing in her cleanup long enough to glance back over her shoulder, "Did I... do something?"

Cameron could hear the hurt tone in her best friend's voice, but remained silent as she worked. She didn't want to hurt her friend, but she was having a hard enough time trying to keep it all together without adding this to the scenario. Shutting up seemed the easiest way not to risk saying anything to make matters worse, vainly hoping Rachel would take the hint and just leave her in peace.

"Cameron, please... talk to me." Finishing her cleanup and tossing the sopping towels into the trash, the soldier made her way slowly, hesitantly towards her friend, "Do you need me to get John?"

"Why do you always assume I need John? I'm not a child." Cameron's demeanor seemed to be implying exactly the opposite, looking for all the world like she was going to stomp her foot as she glared up at her.

"Because Cameron...," Despite her usual lack of tact, Lorne actually looked reluctant to mention this, clearly torn between a measure of fear and more than a little awe at the sight before her, "You're... you're crying."

Lifting a finger up to her right eye, Cameron was nearly as startled as her friend when she pulled it back to find a tear rolling down it towards her palm, staring at it for nearly a minute in complete silence.

"Can I help?" Rachel braved a few more tentative steps forward, "Can I get you something?"

Her outstretched hand clenching unconsciously into a fist, the pressure was so intense she was surprised she hadn't broken a nail. Cameron couldn't imagine how she could have possibly let this amount of emotion, this amount of _weakness_, show through her carefully cultivated exterior, "I'm fine."

"If you're fine...," Rachel's words trailed off again, obviously thinking of Cameron as her friend rather than a machine that could crush her with virtually no effort, she reached out and snagged her clenched hand, "Why are you cut up? What happened?"

"You're scaring me, Cameron." Despite her words, Rachel found herself stepping forward a few feet, her friend's emotional state making her want to reach out and hold her, "Whatever this is, holding it in is obviously causing problems. You're crying in the middle of the kitchen."

Cameron shook her head, Rachel was right. She shouldn't have been crying in the middle of the kitchen. Her hands were cut, she snapped at her friend and now she was letting her control slip. This was quite frankly unacceptable. "I said I'm FINE! I DON'T need your help!" She managed to muster up a glare at the approaching young woman.

For the first time in their conversation, fear started to show through on Rachel's face, knowing full well that only her husband seemed able to help Cameron through her occasional mood-swings, "I'm... I'm gonna get John, okay?"

"No!" Cameron exclaimed, her voice panicked as she reached out and snagged Rachel's hand and held her in place...squeezing harder than she intended, "Don't get John. I...I'm fine, I swear."

"Cameron, he needs to know about this." Cringing a little, all the blood rushing out of her rapidly whitening digits, "He can help you. If you won't tell me, you have to talk to him..."

Cameron tightened her grip on the small hand, the only thing stopping her friend from leaving, she looked downright desperate to stop any of this from getting back to her John. "No...please."

"It's alright." Trying her best to look calm and reassuring while seriously hoping her hand wouldn't be crushed, Rachel decided on one last compromise, "I won't tell John. But you have to tell someone, alright? If you tell me, I promise it will stay just between us."

Cameron released her grip just a little, enough to let the blood start flowing back in to Rachel's fingers. Looking up at her friend, she closely resembled a child begging not to be ratted out to her parents. "You won't tell John?"

"I won't." Knowing Cameron was perfectly capable of detecting the truth when in such close physical contact, Rachel tried desperately to keep her heartbeat under control, "Please, you obviously need to talk to someone. That's what friends are for."

"I..." Still clutching at Rachel's hand, Cameron froze mid sentence. She desperately didn't want John to know how defective she was, that morning's activities were enough of an indication of that.

Having known the cyborg long enough to at least understand which buttons to push, Rachel leaned closer and lowered her voice, "If not for you... what about John? Do you think he'd want you to be like this? To have to worry about this on top of everything else that's going on?"

Shaking her head, Cameron released her friends hand and averted her gaze to the floor. When her answer came, it was in such a tiny voice her friend could barely make it out, "No."

"Then why don't you sit down and let me help you?" Massaging her fingers in a bid to get the blood flowing again, Rachel tried on a sickly smile, motioning to a chair across the table.

Pausing to consider it for a moment, eventually Cameron made her way over in the direction of Rachel's hand and slowly took the offered chair. She looked up to see Rachel sitting opposite her, but made no move to speak, or even acknowledge her friend.

"Cameron, this only words if you're honest." Fighting off a smirk at the oddly childish look on the cyborg's face, Rachel decided to help her get started, "Can you tell me why you were crying?"

"I wasn't crying," suddenly Cameron burst in to life, vehemently shaking her head. "I'm a machine, I don't cry."

"Bullshit." Though she looked sad about her friend's level of denial, Rachel wasn't about to let her out if it that simply, "Machines don't love either... so lets just stop pretending you're 'just a machine', kay?"

Once again averting her gaze to the pattern of the floor tiles, Cameron's frown returned full force, as if her stubborn resistance was starting to crumble. "I..." She paused again, reluctant to reveal what she considered to be a defect, "...had a dream."

There it was, her secret was out. Cameron looked away, ashamed to be admitting something that made her look so weak, even in front of someone she trusted as much as she did her friend Rachel.

"Wait a minute," Making sure to keep her voice calm, Lorne's confusion still shown through, what she was hearing not making any sense when compared to what she knew about Cameron, "I thought you didn't sleep? How could you dream?"

Cameron started to shake her head frantically, denial seeming to be the best course of action for her to take, "I...I don't know, it's...it's not possible."

"It's alright Cameron, just calm down." Smiling softly, Rachel reached forward and rested her hand on top of her friend's, "When did this happen?"

"Two nights ago," she looked down again, taking comfort in the small touch from the woman opposite her. "I closed my eyes, as I always do when I'm in bed with John, and then..."

"You had a dream." Rachel finished for her, that same awe returning to her voice, looking surprisingly happy for her, "Cameron... why would that be a bad thing?"

"Cyborgs don't dream," she frowned at the young woman's exuberance over this issue. "We shouldn't even sleep. We go in to standby when we need to recycle energy, and we only need to do that twice in our operating span."

"Okay." Though Lorne found herself nodding along, the tech-stuff was way above her comfort level. Luckily, emotions and dreaming were two things she had a lifetime of experience with, "But you're not exactly a... well, 'normal' cyborg. Right?"

"That doesn't change the fact that I slept," she replied with a shake of her head, as if she was trying to make sense of all this for the first time. "I was not fond of the experience."

"So, was it a dream... or a nightmare?" Rachel joined her friend in shaking her head, "Cause I get the feeling you wouldn't be this worked up if it had just been you and John running naked on a beach."

"It...was both," Cameron looked up at her friend, almost like a kid looking up at its parents for advice, "Is that possible? Does that happen to you?"

"Yeah, all the time." Shrugging, Lorne tried her best to think of a simple way to explain the phenomenon to the cyborg, "Sometimes a dream turns into a nightmare, or a nightmare into a dream. There really aren't any hard rules to this hon, it's all subconscious."

"Then I believe I would classify it as both a dream and a nightmare," she frowned and looked back down at the floor, "I didn't like the nightmare."

Rachel leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, totally captivated by the idea of exploring a cyborg's inner thoughts. After all, she'd always wondered what made her metal friends tick, "What was it about?"

"It was about me...and John, about our lives together...but it wasn't our lives, it was like an alternate possibility. It was disjointed, chaotic." Cameron's voice picked up both in volume and speed, that coupled with the shaking of her head made it look like the onset of a mild panic attack, her emotions spiking as a result of her lack of understanding of what her dream meant

"Then tell me about it," Rachel smiled reassuringly and gave Cameron's hand a gentle squeeze, "Maybe we can figure it out together. After all, I have a little more experience with dreams than you do."

Calmed somewhat by her words, Cameron nodded her agreement, "When I closed my eyes, it felt like only a moment had passed when I opened my eyes again. But I wasn't in bed, I wasn't with my John."

Rachel nodded, "And that scared you?"

"I couldn't find John, he wasn't there," Cameron looked for all the world like a scared child as she related her dream, almost as if she was reliving it in her CPU. "It scared me. I was in a bunker of some kind...but I couldn't control my body, it was being moved without my direction."

"Ooooohhh, Zombie Dream." Rachel nodded sagely, "I _hate_ those. Like being a puppet without strings."

"Yes!" Cameron was openly impressed with the insight her friend was providing. Perhaps this might not be such a futile endeavor after all, "I made my way to the command center, John's command center. He was there in the middle of the room issuing orders, he saw me."

"So you found him?" Squeezing her friend's hand again, Rachel leaned forward to look her in the eyes, "That help?"

Cameron found herself smiling in addition to her nod. The smile stretching across her face was the first one she'd had since John left her that morning. "Yes. He looked delighted to see me. I walked over to him and kissed him...right there, in front of everybody. Our wedding rings made contact when he took my hand in his."

Her friend's reaction to the scene gave Lorne hope that maybe things weren't as serious as Cameron seemed to believe they were, "So, it wasn't really that bad then?"

"Corporal Cole was there," Cameron said with a frown. "She glared at me the entire time. Then...John became distracted, an explosion rocked the command center."

"So..." Lorne couldn't help but look a little sad, visions of the future stealing through her mind, "More like reality than a dream, huh?"

Cameron's brow cinched together as she recalled more details, more confusing details. "My vision distorted when another explosion hit, and then I was out in the tunnels. A woman approached me with her daughter," she paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "She seemed...happy, to see me. She wasn't afraid, neither of them were, they seemed to be... in awe of me."

Rachel couldn't help but look confused - most humans didn't respond that way in her experience, "Because you're a machine?"

"No, because I was John's wife. Her daughter had a gift for me to give to John, a bracelet." the thought gave her pause, the thought of her husband bringing a smile to her face. "He liberated her from a work camp...she complimented my wedding ring, she said it was pretty."

Cameron glanced down as she idly played with said ring, glad it was still very much in place on her finger where it belonged.

"A lot of people feel that way about John, especially in the future." Rachel couldn't help but think about her own savior, a battle-scarred machine John had reprogrammed... the very reason she was friends with Cameron instead of cowering in terror around her like the other soldiers, "Must have been nice."

"It was, the little girl hugged me. I enjoyed it...I closed my eyes and held her tight." Cameron found herself smiling again, this portion of her experience she'd definitely classify as a dream and not a nightmare, "When I opened them I'd moved again, this time I was in our quarters with John."

"Ooooohhh," In typical Lorne fashion, the soldier was distracted by the prospect of something shiny and exciting, "Naked time with the General?"

"Not exactly," Cameron said with a frown. "I gave the bracelet to him...he threw it in a drawer. That bracelet was precious to the child, and he threw it in a drawer with all the other gifts he'd received without even looking at it beforehand. He wasn't acting like my John."

"So... he was changing then? Into a different kind of man I mean." Her friend looked clearly uncomfortable, as if afraid of offending Cameron, "More like... our John. The one we left in the future?"

Nodding solemnly, Cameron continued her story in a smaller than usual voice. "Yes. I thought I could talk to him, try to save him, but then Cole knocked on the door and came in." She raised her head to look Lorne in the eye, "She came in to my quarters, our quarters without waiting for a response. She wouldn't dare do that here."

"Wouldn't be so sure of that Cameron," The cyborg could tell Rachel was no happier about this new reality than she was, "Now that she's his right hand again."

Cameron frowned, she wasn't exactly in need of a reminder of that fact. "She informed him of the situation in the command center and he left. I tried to follow and she stopped me, she blocked my path, told me I was more use to him in the bedroom than by his side out there."

"Wow... cold much?" Quirking a brow, a semi-pleasant thought occurred to Lorne, "Did you terminate the bitch? Cause that's one of the awesome things about dreams - no real world consequences for venting your anger."

"No, I didn't," she looked decidedly unhappy about that fact, regretting the fact she wasn't in control of her actions during this dream. "She slammed the door in my face, and then I found myself in the wa room with John and his generals. They were planning something, the destruction of Skynet itself."

"I was there for that ya know." Despite the circumstances, Lorne looked exceedingly proud of herself, "We tore through the defense grid like a hot knife through butter, real old-school Blitzkrieg. Good times."

Cameron shook her head in stark contrast to her friends excitement, "This wasn't. I approached John. He'd promised to free the machines under his command, the reprogrammed ones...like me."

"Once Skynet was defeated he was to give them free will and set them free," She raised her gaze up to meet Rachel's, her brown eyes glistening again, "Rachel, he refused."

"Oh Cameron," Even Lorne looked like she might start crying, knowing just how horrible a betrayal like that must have been for her friend, "John would never do that. Even our John saw the machines as equals - we never could have won the war without them."

"I know that...he knows that, I'm sure of it." She shook her head, trying her best to refocus on her task, emotions not withstanding. "The next time I moved, I was seeing John off for battle. However it appeared that Cole had already done my work for me. She was fussing over him like..."

"Like what Cameron?" Rachel appeared oddly focused on her friend, who seemed about to start crying again. Or smash the table to bits... it was hard to tell.

"Like a wife does for her husband." Cameron clenched her fist again, this time it thankfully wasn't wrapped around her best friend's comparatively fragile digits.

If she hadn't cracked a nail earlier, she was on the verge of chipping a tooth now, such was the force they were gritted together, "The battle was successful, John came home."

"He was...inaccessible. There were crowds of people, hundreds, thousands, I couldn't be sure. John and Cole stepped out of the helicopter. John looked cold, distant, like him. Cole looked like she was thrilled to be at his side. The crowd started chanting, 'kiss, kiss'." She frowned, almost as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Oh...," Nodding slowly, Rachel frowned as well, "And now comes the nightmare."

"I tried to get to them but I couldn't. There were too many people, they were too strong." Cameron looked terrified at this moment, clearly not used to not being stronger than everyone around her. "You gave John a bottle of champagne, he and Cole drank from it, arm in arm."

She looked up and glared at Rachel, as if it was her fault for participating in her dream.

"Hey... sorry." Despite a defensive smirk, Lorne was clearly shifting uncomfortably under the cyborg's glare, "I promise not to stock any champagne in the future, okay?"

Cameron's glare subsided after a moment when she continued with her tale. "While they drank, I spotted a triple eight making it's way towards John. It had it's weapon raised and pointed at him. I managed to push my way through the crowds just in time...but I wasn't strong enough, it pushed me out of the way." She once again spoke with a raised, frantic voice. She didn't like the thought that she could be so helpless, especially when her John was in danger.

"Cameron, it was just a dream." Without any thought to the potential danger of a cyborg lashing out emotionally, Rachel reached out and snagged Cameron's hand in both of hers, patting the top gently with her own, "Not real. John is fine."

The cyborg managed a weak smile, the worst part of the dream, and the most unsettling for her personally, was still ahead, "I looked back, expecting to see the worst, but Cole managed to destroy the unit with a plasma rifle. The crowd had gone silent, I thought John had been killed... but everyone was staring at me, at my exposed iris."

"A machine tried to kill John the day he beat Skynet," Rachel nodded in understanding, "And they saw you for what you are. I doubt that went over well."

"It didn't. They wanted to destroy me. John was injured... there was nothing he could do to stop them." Glancing up from under her bangs, Cameron looked devastated at the idea of losing John, "Derek and some of John's other men managed to pull me free, to get me clear of the mob before they had their way."

Rubbing her thumb in slow circles atop her friend's hand, Rachel's voice was barely above a whisper, "Did John make it?"

Cameron suddenly flipped her hand over and clutched the Corporal's fingers in her own, "John did... you didn't. You were still at John's side when the Triple-8 attacked. It killed you. I couldn't prevent it, I couldn't get there in time to..."

"Like I said, it's just a dream," Rachel reminded her gently, "Besides, you did the right thing trying to protect John. I'm not important enough for you to be worrying about."

Though Cameron managed a small nod, knowing the woman's words were true, she still didn't like hearing them. Rachel was important. She was important to her. "I tried to see John after you died, I _needed_ to talk about what I was feeling. The emotions were overwhelming, and I knew he could help me understand them."

"I know," Squeezing her hand back, Lorne smiled, "He takes good care of you."

But Cameron just shook her head, "No, he didn't. I couldn't see him. I was stopped at the door to my own quarters by Cole's soldiers. They threatened me, wouldn't let me past."

"Cole's soldiers?" Rachel quirked a brow at that, "You mean John's soldiers, right?"

"No, her soldiers... her assassins. She was there, she came out of our quarters, afraid the disruption would wake John... she was wearing his clothes." Barely able to give voice to what she'd seen, Cameron could feel another tear slowly winding it's way down her cheek, "I scanned her form, detecting a change. She was pregnant."

"Oh, Cameron." That was too much for Rachel to accept dispassionately, standing and making her way around the table to her friend's side, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and squeezing as tightly as she could, "No wonder you were crying."

Despite feeling oddly comforted by the woman's embrace, Cameron pried her loose a few seconds later so she could look into her eyes, "You can't tell John about this. You promised."

"I promised." Rachel repeated the words, though she obviously wasn't at all thrilled with the idea, "But why won't you talk to him about it? Cameron, you had a dream! This is huge!"

Cameron shook her head vehemently, "No. This is not 'huge', this is a problem I need to deal with. I don't want John to know about it, or anyone else for that matter."

"I just don't understand why this is a bad thing." She couldn't help it, Rachel was entirely lost, "You have emotions and fears and independent thought. Why are you so surprised you're becoming... well, more like us?"

"Because I _shouldn't_ be!" By this point, the cyborg looked nearly frantic, convinced that her friend was going to tell her husband of her malfunction, "I'm defective. John won't want me if he finds out."

Rachel looked torn between worry and feeling vaguely insulted that her friend considered normal human traits to be 'defects', "How can you say that? You'd be more like him... is being like John bad?"

"I wouldn't be like him. This... isn't what I was designed for." The look on her face told the Corporal there was no chance of her budging on this point, "I could snap and kill him at any moment. I don't ever want to endanger him that way. This problem needs to be fixed, Rachel."

"O... okay." Shrugging uncomfortably, her promise and her better judgment now clearly at odds, the soldier forced a good-natured smirk, "You sure don't look dangerous to me, Cameron."

Swiping her eyes one last time, the cyborg ignored her last comment and turned back to her work, as if nothing had happened, "Thank you for your concern, Rachel. I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier."

"Don't worry about it," Lorne nodded slowly, at a total loss as to how to help her friend, "I'm headed back out to the barracks, you want I should pass anything on to hubby?"

"No," Returning to her sewing, tone now completely neutral, their little talk seemed to have sorted Cameron out for at least the time being. Either that, or it had just helped her enough to allow her to resume hiding her emotions from everyone. It was this second possibility that had Lorne shuffling her feet aimlessly, still not comfortable leaving, "I wouldn't want to disturb him during such an important meeting."

"Fair enough." Patting her friend on the shoulder one last time, Rachel pulled her knit cap back down onto her head, tossed her coffee cup into the sink, and trudged back out the door into the snow. More confused now than she could ever remember being before.

Lorne couldn't read, but that didn't mean she was stupid - she'd never have been chosen to go back in time and support the General himself otherwise. She understood how humans worked, at least to a point, and was reasonably sure she understood her friend better than anyone outside her husband.

Humans dreamed because the subconscious could only be shut out for so long before it demanded a little time front and center in the hierarchy of the brain, which was the reason that so many of the higher species had to sleep regularly or suffer mental breakdown. If Cameron's emotions had developed to the point her logic-driven CPU had needed to develop a subconscious to protect itself... then things were proceeding at a pace no one had expected, and Cameron could very well suffer a breakdown herself - or whatever the machine equivalent of that was.

No wonder the cyborg was terrified. And if Lorne was being honest with herself, she was starting to sympathize.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 14th, 2011  
1836hrs

John could barely keep his eyes open as he shoved the door to his bedroom open with a lowered shoulder, both arms piled nearly to overflowing with his laptop and enough papers to start a freaking pinata factory, and unloaded his burden unceremoniously onto his already crowded desk. Quirking a brow at a small pile of what appeared to be broken plastic, he brushed it over the edge into the trashcan and flipped his laptop open, setting it to boot before flopping into his seat and setting to work on his boots.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time to spend most of the previous night making love to Cameron, now he was in the unenviable position of trying to keep his brain functioning on two hours sleep with hundreds of lives relying on his judgment. Catching sight of Cameron's crumpled sleepwear near the foot of his bed while tossing his boots in that general direction, he was still finding it pretty hard to regret that decision.

Despite his attitude, Perry's request wasn't exactly unreasonable. Frankly, John felt like a moron that the idea hadn't occurred to him earlier. Of course those men would want to bring their families with them into the bunker, what kind of heartless son of a bitch wouldn't? None of the fighters sent back from the future had family though, and it just hadn't been a part of John's considerations up to that point.

It was a mistake he'd have to make sure he didn't repeat. It was his fucking _job_ to foresee these problems before they happened, but he'd allowed himself to get distracted, trying to shove 30 years of 'normal' married life into the last few weeks before the world ended.

Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, John settled in for the long haul, smirking a bit when his e-mail showed six messages from Cole in the short period since he'd left the barracks. The woman was nothing if not efficient, the figures he'd asked for springing to life before his eyes hours before he'd expected them.

John had absolutely no idea how long he'd been at it when the bedroom door creaked open off to his right, the only signpost he could force into his sleep-deprived brain at the moment was the fact he'd heard Breaking Benjamin's Blow Me Away at least three times, and considering the length of his playlist... that wasn't a good sign.

Using the interruption as a much-needed chance to stretch aching muscles, he leaned back in his chair with a groan, letting his headphones fall down onto his neck while shifting it side to side with a satisfying crack of cartilage, "When did you get in?"

"I never left." Cameron answered with a tilt of her head, holding his jacket out for inspection, "I was in the kitchen repairing the battle damage."

"You patched up my jacket?" Tossing his headphones onto the desk and spinning his chair to face his wife, John accepted the coat with a grateful smile, "I thought this thing was totaled."

"It was. The blood was particularly difficult to get out, but I persisted. I know how important it is to you." Taking the jacket and hanging it on the closet doorknob, Cameron turned John back around by the arms and set to work on the tension she'd noticed between his shoulders the moment she'd arrived. It was clear John had been pushing himself too hard again, and it bothered her more than she wanted to admit that he refused to take her advice and relax for a while, "How was your meeting?"

"About what you'd expect." John snorted without humor, shaking his head, "Perry wouldn't agree to fight with us unless I found room for the families of his men. Nearly a hundred and twenty civilians Cameron, eight of them under five years old!"

Letting slip a weary sigh, he could feel the tension rushing out of him under his wife's gentle ministrations, "Can you believe that shit? Infants, in _my_ bunker. It's hard enough keeping them in line around Savannah, and at least she's used to machines."

Cameron frowned at the level of stress she detected through her fingertips, John's blood pressure twenty points above what it should have been for someone his age and in his physical condition, "You don't wish to have children in the bunker?"

"I know it's necessary." Letting his eyes drift closed, John smiled lazily, "I just figured it would come later. Like when mom decided she wanted grandkids."

"When are they being moved?" The thought of children was anything but a happy one for the cyborg, and she wanted to move past it as quickly as possible.

"Was just working on that, actually." Leaning forward a few inches and pointing idly at the screen of his laptop, John shrugged, apparently ready to get back to work, "Probably going to have to steal a few passenger buses. I'm sure Dooley would love that assignment."

Cameron took the opportunity to lean forward, letting her hair tickle along John's cheek, "You should relax for a while."

"Can't." Shaking his head, John was already clearly engrossed in the numbers scrolling across the screen. He knew that any error could cost people their lives, anything he overlooked could, and likely would, come back to bite them in the ass. This was game time, and he was finally focused on his task, "I've got enough work to last me weeks here. Since we don't have weeks... I'm gonna have to bust my ass."

"I can think of a few things you might find more enjoyable," Letting her lips drift along John's pulse, and down to his collarbone, Cameron tried to fight off a frown at her husband's lack of response. She wasn't used to being rejected, or interrupted for that matter. Unlike John, she had nothing to distract her, nothing to keep her from focusing on the alien and frankly frightening impulses springing to life where nothing had been before. She needed the clarity she felt when being with John, and she resented him for withholding it.

"Huh?" Clearly not paying attention, John scrolled further down the list, eyes scanning side to side while he clicked his tongue absently.

"I said we could finish what we started this morning," Leaning further down, Cameron let her hands ghost along his shoulders, fingers dipping below the collar of his shirt and running along his chest, nuzzling into his neck, "You seemed to be enjoying yourself before you were called away."

"You know I'd like that," Despite his words, John frowned a bit as he reached up and gave one of her hands a gentle squeeze, "But I have to take care of this, Cam. I'm sorry."

"Are you sure you won't..." Using all the data she'd accumulated on her John, Cameron paused just long enough to run her tongue over the spot on his neck that always seemed to 'motivate' her husband, "Reconsider?"

"I can't." Tilting his head around to drop a quick peck on Cameron's lips, John turned back to the computer a moment later, "I'll be lucky if I get to sleep tonight."

Glancing down at the hands clacking away at a keyboard instead of tearing her clothes off of her, Cameron could feel her disappointment ramping up to full-blown anger, snatching John's left hand and thrusting it in front of his face, "John..."

"Whoa!" Clearly misreading what was going on, John frowned, "Listen, Cameron, I really appreciate the effort, but I just don't have the time to..."

"You're not wearing your ring!" Cameron was glaring daggers at him, any thoughts of sex now long gone, unable to think of any justifiable reason he would have removed his wedding band.

"Oh?" Thrown a bit by her sudden shift into rage, it took John's brain a moment to realize what she was referring to, suddenly feeling like an even bigger idiot, "Oh! Yeah, I took it off for the meeting."

Rummaging around in his pocket for a few seconds with his free hand, John fished his wedding ring out and slipped it back onto his finger with what he hoped was a placating smile, "I didn't know why Perry showed up here, and the last time we saw him we weren't married. Didn't want to give him any potential leverage, anything he could use against me."

"So, now I'm something to be used against you? Just another weakness?" Releasing/tossing his hand back into his chest, Cameron could feel the impulse to lash out, to break something, rushing headlong towards the surface, "I thought I was your wife!"

"I'm John Connor." Frowning, John fiddled with his ring absently. He'd talked to Cameron about this a million times, and he had thought she understood it. "How many people have died just because they're close to me? Todd and Janelle? Riley? How many, Cameron?"

Glancing down at the small circle of silver coated with titanium, he found himself wondering when it had all gotten so complicated. The he remembered - it always had been. "I don't want to add you to that list."

"I can take care of myself. John..." Cameron was starting to struggle just to get her words out, such was her annoyance at his behavior, "...how could you. I thought this marriage was precious to you...it is to me."

"It's not like we stopped being married because I took the ring off." Shaking his head and going back to his work, John shrugged, "Just a bit of infiltration Cameron. Thought you of all people would understand that."

Eying him warily, she glanced back and forth between John's haggard face and the pile of work shoved to one side of the desk. She never had liked Perry in the future, and John did have a point. Now that she'd taken a moment to reign her emotions back in a little, she could see that. Still, she couldn't help but be a little pissed off, with him, but also the situation in general.

John had often found physical activity to be an effective stress-reliever, using his sessions in the barracks with the men to 'blow off steam'. Cameron certainly felt like she needed to release a quantity of super-heated water herself, and the idea of clearing her head while engaging in an activity she hadn't had time for in months.

Walking over to their dresser, she kneeled down and began rummaging through the 'miscellaneous' drawer, comprising anything that wasn't a traditional article of clothing - having reorganized John's system upon moving into his room, to meet her own exacting standards.

Without glancing up from the keyboard, John quirked a brow at the noise coming from behind, "Getting ready for bed?"

"No John," Finding her outfit exactly where she'd left it, Cameron actually found herself smiling at the thought of what she was about to do. "I'm going to practice my ballet."

Nodding distractedly while wading through a new slew of messages from his XO, "Um... have fun with that."

Looking at the back of her husband's head expectantly, Cameron could practically feel the annoyance she was hoping to suppress by dancing returning again. All she knew was that she wanted relief, she wanted to dance, and she wanted it _now._"John, order your men to clear the living room for me."

"What?" Still not glancing up from his work, John couldn't help rolling his eyes at Cole's dire predictions about food and medical supplies, "I'm a little busy right now, Cameron. Ask them yourself."

"No John, they won't listen to me. Order them to move." She wants to dance, and clearly he didn't want to be close to her, otherwise they'd be tearing each other's clothes off by now. The only alternative was the living room, but it was crowded with his soldiers. They hated her, why should she have to be the one that tells them to move?

"You're my wife, they'll listen to you."Despite understanding her reluctance to deal with the men head-on, John couldn't help but get a little tired of the way everyone in the compound kept making their problems his problems. Didn't he have enough to deal with already without the drama?

Glaring at the back of his head, Cameron could feel her fist clenching tighter around her ballet clothes, "Order them NOW!"

Okay, _that_ was odd.

Spinning his chair around to look at his wife, John found himself a bit taken aback by the fact she looked like she was ready to punch someone, "Cameron... what's going on?"

"I want to dance and your men are in my way." Cameron's tone told him her next words were anything but a joke, "Order them to move, or I'll move them myself."

"They're working, like me." John could feel his brow crinkling in confusion, unable to fathom how it was Cameron seemed to be misunderstanding this, "Preparing for the end of the world is a little more important than your hobby, don't you think?"

Cameron stepped forward menacingly, her clothes still clenched in one white-knuckled fist, "What am I supposed to do John? Stand in the corner until you're ready to have sex with me?"

"I didn't say that." He couldn't entirely suppress a pissy look of his own, not exactly appreciating how she was making him out to be this huge asshole just for putting human lives before her whims, "Is this about this morning?"

"No, this is about you not doing as I ask." Shaking her head vigorously, Cameron leveled a impatient glance at him, "Are you going to move them or not?"

"I really don't get it." Tossing his hands up in surrender, John appeared totally at the end of his rope, "You're constantly worried about the men disliking you, now all of a sudden you want me to kick them out into the barracks for the night so you can dance in the livingroom? Not a great way to make friends Cameron."

"Fine, then I'll just 'move' them myself." Cameron began striding for the door even before she'd finished speaking, fully intending to throw anyone unfortunate enough to still be in the livingroom out on their ass.

"You can't just do that!" Jumping up to his feet, he was starting to get genuinely worried about his wife's behavior. "Please, Cameron. Just give me a few hours to get this straightened out, and I'll spend some time with you. I promise."

Turning around, Cameron tilted her head to one side, "I'm not a child that needs your attention."

"No," John was perfectly willing to admit that much, "You're acting more like a spoiled child."

Practically growling at his insinuation, Cameron's glare could have burned through lead, "Are you telling me I can't dance?"

"I'm telling you that your need to relax isn't as important as the work we're trying to accomplish." Letting slip a tired sigh, John was desperately trying to figure out what had happened to his wife, "We're all under stress right now, Cameron. That doesn't mean we get to act the way you are."

For her part, Cameron was totally unable to comprehend why her husband was suddenly treating her like a child, her anger threatening to spill over, now that he was being condescending too, that just made it worse. "What would you like me to do John? Would you like me to stay here? Be your perfect little wife?"

"Hey, no one ever forced you to marry me, alright?" John was starting to get worked up himself, not at all appreciating her attitude after everything else that had been happening lately. "If you're not happy with it, you just let me know."

She was so tempted to do just that. To scream, to yell, to knock his head clear off his shoulders. Instead, she settled for a low growl, "Get out."

John just stood there for a long moment, clearly unimpressed, "What was that?"

"You heard me." Tilting her head to the side had an entirely different effect when she was angry, much more threatening than cute and quirky. Like a predator stalking it's prey, "Get out."

John forced himself to take a long, deep breath, reminding himself that Cameron's emotions were new to her and he just might be coming down on her a little too hard, "Come on, you don't mean that."

"Yes I do. Leave now," Stepping forward, Cameron's glare left no doubt in either of their minds, "I'm not going to tell you again."

"This is where I live." Her husband glanced around pointedly, "Where I sleep. Where am I supposed to go?"

"You work it out." John had never seen Cameron sneer before, and it wasn't very attractive, even on her, "You're a big boy John."

"I just..." Looking up, the absurdity of his cyborg wife kicking him to the curb because he didn't want her assaulting his soldiers was finally landing, "Seriously? I'm riding the couch in the barracks because of _this_?"

Cameron's glare never let up, if anything growing more menacing by the second, his apparent lack of care for the things that were important to her making her feel worse. "You need to go, now."

"Come on Cameron, don't you think you're overreacting just a little?" John was getting desperate now, dreading the thought of trying to face his men under these kind of circumstances, "How am I supposed to explain this to everyone?"

"You're in charge, they'll obey you when you tell them to mind their own business." Instead of looking sympathetic in the least, his wife just stepped back and opened the door for him.

Slamming his feet back into his boots, not even bothering to lace them up, John started gathering up his laptop and the reams of paper littering his desk, "You need to get a handle on these anger issues, Cameron."

Letting slip a frustrated sigh, John headed for the door, "I don't have time to deal with this."

"I know, you have more 'important' things to do." The sneer was back, Cameron glowering petulantly as he passed, "You've made that quite clear. Thank you for explaining."

John just rolled his eyes at her little tirade, "I'll be in the barracks when you come to your senses and realize how stupid this is."

"_Don't_ call me stupid!" Cameron nearly snapped the door handle while shoving the portal as far open as it could go.

Flinching back a little at her sudden outburst, as if for the first time suddenly realizing his beautiful wife could twist his head off like a child with a dandylion. "Cameron, you know I didn't mean it like..."

"_OUT_!" By this point she was practically screaming at him, unable to handle the rush of emotion at him declaring her desire to dance stupid. Of declaring her stupid, and childish, and every other thing her perfect memory kept replaying over and over on a horrible loop.

Connor found himself nodding slowly, not stupid enough to keep digging the hole, "Alright, I'm gone."

Snagging his jacket off the hook and shrugging into it, he picked up his laptop and stormed out the door, "We'll talk about this when you've calmed down."

His only answer was their bedroom door slamming so quickly it nearly clipped him in the back of his skull, and rattling most of the second story. Jogging down the steps as quickly as he could in unlaced boots, John caught sight of his mother making her way towards the staircase from the kitchen, obviously having heard the door slam upstairs, quirking a brow in John's direction, "You look like hell. What happened?"

Shaking his head in frustration, it was John's turn to growl as he stormed past Sarah and out onto the entryway, "Apparently, the honeymoon is over."

Making a beeline past the the gawking soldiers in the livingroom, John didn't wait for a response before he was out the door and on his way to the barracks, muttering to himself the entire way.

* * *

T.B.C

Sorry about the massive length between updates guys, I had a massive HD failure that took with it this chapter. Huge thanks to BigBew for his help in reconstructing what you see here, and rest assured I'm backing up my files on a flash drive and an online storage utility, so this shouldn't happen again.

As always, a huge thank you for everyone who has taken the time to leave a review, and I hope to hear your opinions on the new chapter.


	29. Chapter 29

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 29/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 12/23/10  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.  
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

* * *

Chapter 29: Breaking Point

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 15th, 2011  
1538hrs

John Connor loved a good fight.

There'd been a time, admittedly not that long ago, when he would've done just about anything to avoid this kind of confrontation, but to John that time seemed a world away and belonged to a person he barely recognized anymore.

When your life revolves around war, around uncertainty, around the lives and deaths of millions of people, there was an remarkable clarity to be had by pitting yourself against an opponent with a single clear objective: to knock your head off.

Every new challenger, every new opportunity, brought to the table their own unique set of strengths and weaknesses, their own strategies, and their own technique. It was in the reading of the man that you found yourself, that you discovered what you are truly capable of, and at the end of the day, what you could truly do.

For a long time John had been sure of his mental abilities, of his understanding of the machines the way that they chose to fight, but it was only recently that he'd found himself gaining confidence in this most personal arena of combat. After a lifetime of having other people fight your battles for you, of having people protect you from every threat both perceived and real, it was liberating to stand on your own 2 feet, to stare down the man across from you and know that the only thing standing between you and certain defeat were your own wits, your own abilities, and the determination you chose to bring the battle.

When he'd first begun hand-to-hand training with the men, it was to prove a point, not to himself but rather to them: that he was John Connor, that despite his youth and inexperience he was a man to be feared, a man with which you didn't fuck if you wanted to survive. Over time though, it'd become more about proving those things to himself, to a erase the fear of his adolescence and to try to discover the man that they left behind in the future, because you couldn't expect others to believe in you until you learned to believe in yourself.

When he'd awoken that morning, freezing his ass off on the couch in the barracks after less than two hours fitful sleep on a lumpy and threadbare piece of furniture that probably should've been thrown out 30 years prior, he felt unnaturally lost, adrift in a way he hadn't felt since beginning his relationship with Cameron. The old saying was apparently more true than you wanted to admit, you really didn't know what you had until it was gone.

John had wanted to believe that he had built himself up, that he'd found something deep inside that had always been there waiting for the time when it was most needed, after all, if the stories were to be believed he'd done it all on his own more than once in the past timelines. But the longer he seemed to dwell on it the more the truth stared back at him: he needed his wife in ways he'd never imagined. She was his rock. She was his conscience. She was the one thing he would always fight for.

But when the one thing you'd always fight for kicked you to the curb, you tended to discover a part of yourself you wish you'd left simmering in the dark.

"Come on old man," swiping the fine mixture of blood and sweat from his brow, John's grin was just a step below manic as he danced around the makeshift ring, easily avoiding the random swipes of his more seasoned opponent. "That can't be all you got?"

"Hey," Ellison looked less than impressed at the younger man's cocky antics as well is his continual baiting," it wasn't my idea to get in this ring junior!"

Pausing at the edge of the crowd just long enough for Major Cole to tilt his head back and pour two shots worth of tequila down his throat, John grimaced visibly before shaking his head with a rakish smile, "You wanna be a member of my team? You've got a learn to throw down with the rest of us grunts!"

"I'd probably be more comfortable about all this if you weren't drunk." Taking a moment to shake his own head, mostly in disbelief at the scene playing out around him, the former FBI agent moved back into firing range with all the enthusiasm of a man stepping into an ice cold bath.

"Me? Drunk?" Stepping forward just long enough to rub the top of the older man's head infuriatingly, John pulled back just in time to avoid a hard right to the temple, laughing the entire way. "Naw, I'm just trying to level the playing field!"

Though he had taken more than his fair share of good shots over the last couple minutes, John didn't seem to be feeling any of it – a pleasant side effect not only of his liquid refreshment, but of the fact that it was sitting on the stomach that hadn't seen food and nearly 24 hours. For all his bluster, the younger Connor appeared reluctant to actually inflict any damage on the other man, simply remaining content with taking his licks and trying to stay on his feet.

It wasn't clear at this point whether that stemmed from any altruism on his part, or rather the fact that he'd exhausted himself during the previous two bouts of the evening. Huey had made the mistake of underestimating just how pissed off his boss and hadn't lasted very long as a consequence. On the bright side, he'd since imbibed nearly as much booze as Connor had, and thus didn't appear to be holding much of a grudge about the slight reorganization of his nose.

Dooley had fared a little better, if only because of his massive size, throwing the younger man around the barracks for nearly fifteen minutes before John finally knocked his legs out from under him, following up with a flurry of blows that had the Private smacking the floor to end the fight. He'd seen Connor pissed off enough times in the future to know when you didn't want to find yourself in his sights, and this scenario clearly qualified. The kid wasn't all that big, but apparently had an adrenal gland the size of a football, because when he got a hair up his ass, you just didn't bring him down.

A saner group of soldiers, perhaps a group that hadn't survived the end of the world and nearly two decades of life-and-death struggle, might've seen this behavior as dysfunctional or even dangerous, but if you are looking for sane you were in the wrong freaking building. Entertainment options were pretty limited within the dank tunnels of the future war. No TV, no radio outside of Resistance broadcasts, battery power was always in short supply so electronic devices were little more than glorified paperweights unless they aided the war effort, no room for proper sports. So, as Cole had so succinctly pointed out to John on more than one occasion, you either fucked or you fought, either activity tending to be lubricated by more than a little moonshine. Anything to forget the world outside the bunker for more than a few hours.

Once Dooley had bowed out of the ring, and John had taken a break to staunch the flow of blood from his eyebrow and refill his tequila reserves, he'd found new volunteers for ring time in short supply - which is why he'd drafted Ellison into the fun. The guy was nice enough, but tended to keep his distance around the soldiers, something John had recently been trying to remedy. He found it pretty ironic that the former FBI agent seemed more at home hanging with Savannah and Wilson than his men, but a quick glance around the ring and the drunken faces screaming at the pair to brain each other gave him a reasonable clue as to why that was the case.

His men certainly were... unique.

John had read an article once about the surprising effectiveness of soldiers from Generations X and Y. Raised and weaned on a steady stream of violence in movies, television, and video games, surrounded by technology they could often operate more effectively than the parents who paid for it. Reflexes honed by countless hours of extreme sports and first person shooters. It was almost like something had been preparing them for Judgment Day and the war that lay ahead.

Unfortunately, it also tended to make them a little... unstable. Tending to have little regard for collateral damage, for death in general, as long as they achieved the desired outcome.

He could certainly sympathize with that.

"Alright!" Shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and the first good humor he'd shown all night, John held his battered hands up while stepping away from Ellison, "You're pretty spry Gramps, I'll give you that much."

Rolling his eyes with the same good-natured smile he usually adopted around John, Ellison snagged his shirt from Coons' outstretched hand and shrugged into it, still wondering why John had invited him into the ring if he wasn't going to take a swing at him. "Keep up that 'gramps' stuff and I'll show you just how spry this old man can really be kiddo."

"Fair enough." Slapping the older man on the back, John looked around the group for a fresh target. The truth was, he'd just wanted the soldiers to start seeing Ellison as a member of the team, but the guy was just too nice for even a pissed-off Connor to want to beat on. Scanning the crowd though, he finally caught sight of one man he wouldn't mind knocking down a few pegs, "McGhee! You're up next!"

The jeers and catcalls greeting John's invitation showed exactly how little love was lost between the rest of the soldiers and the prickly Sergeant being shoved into the center of the circle by Coons and Huey, who were in the process of laughing their asses off.

Derek and Cole got away with their occasionally combative moods because they were both great at what they did and generally knew when to keep their mouths shut. Sergeant McGhee on the other hand didn't have an off switch, and wasn't shy about letting you know _exactly_ what he was thinking most of the time.

The man had disobeyed Cameron's orders and cost John a valuable piece of intelligence in the process, something Connor had neither forgiven nor forgotten. The fact he'd also insulted his wife after John's warnings about the consequences hadn't endeared him to the future General either.

Waiting for the older man to shed his shirt and stretch out a little, John stood stock still across the circle from him, trying to decide if he'd make it quick or draw this one out for a while.

"Should have seen this coming." Shaking his head with a frown, Brandon eyed his boss with more than a little disdain, "What? Your wife got you fighting her battles for her too? Would have thought that stopped about the time your ass landed on the couch last night."

_Okay... quick it is then._

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 15th, 2011  
2241hrs

Darla leaned against the table, rolling the bottle around its ridged bottom in slow circles, using every feminine features she knew John liked to stare at to her utmost advantage, obviously seeing this rift between him and Cameron is a good opportunity, "Come on Johnny, it's got to happen sooner or later. It's already history."

Snapping his eyes back up to hers from inappropriate places John had to suppress a grin, "We're trying to change history here Darla, I don't see why this _has_ to happen."

"Lets see," leaning back, knocking points off her fingers one after another Darla couldn't help but smile, "It's a security measure to make sure you're not actually metal that looks like you. It's a sign of your leadership among the resistance and your top lieutenants. Oh, and your ass already made me sit through this so you're sure as fuck getting one!"

"Wait, I made you...," John couldn't help but frown at the thought of this closeness to Darla he had in the future he had no knowledge of, "Never mind. I'm not doing this, besides - Cameron would freak if she found out."

Rolling her eyes and adding a snort for good measure, Darla continued, "You really think she'll be seeing you naked in the near future boss?"

Glaring across the table at her John took a long swig of his beer, "You don't have to rub it in Darla. We had a fight, it happens."

"Come on Johnny," taking a moment to glance around the room pointedly, she almost laughed, "you're making me look bad, and you're not exactly helping yourself here either. If you don't find your testicles pretty soon... People are gonna start talking."

Staring down at his nearly empty bottle John couldn't help but think about Cameron's behavior. Although it worried him, he really wished that she wasn't going through which he apparently was going through, it would've made his life a lot easier. "I married her, I think people already talk about us."

Darla could only shake her head, looking like she'd really rather not be dealing with this, "It's one thing to fuck her Johnny, it's another to let her push you around like this. To let met... to let _her_ order John fucking Connor around."

"I kept trying to tell everyone after what they saw in Armenia, that the Connor we knew had finally arrived. The one fights to the death without blinking, the one we used to follow!"

It was Darla's turn to sigh, pausing just long enough to take her own pull from the bottle, "Where the fuck did that guy go?"

Her goading finally paying off John looked up at her trying to suppress a grin, "Where is this tattoo going exactly? 'Cause if it's on my ass then there's no way in hell it's happening."

Darla looked oddly lost for a second, glancing down at the table and drawing designs on it aimlessly,"In the future... it was on your back."

Reaching over without the slightest hesitation, she splayed fingers over his left shoulder blade like she'd traced the outline a thousand times, "Right here."

John's eyes trailed drunkenly up her arm and eventually settled on the own zoned out look on her face, "You've seen it before?"

"Of course I have." She took a moment to shrug, as if it meant nothing to her, something that obviously wasn't the case. "We were... close. Like I said, he gave me mine. It wasn't exactly like this, but we still... 'celebrated' afterwords."

Carefully picking her hand off of his shoulder, John forced a smile, "Well then, I guess it can go in the same place. It'll be just like yours?"

Darla smirked in an effort to cover her disappointment at losing her contact with John, "Should be better Johnny, I actually have steady hands."

"Me, drunk? No, can't be!" Standing up and taking a long swig out of the bottle of tequila between them, John swung the chair around and sat down, arms resting on the backrest." All right, let's do this."

"Sure thing boss," adopting an evil little smile, the kind nothing good ever comes from, Darla headed for the stairs with an unusually girlish enthusiasm, "Just let me go grab my gun."

Derek shambled over as Cole bolted for the stairs, looking only slightly more sober than his nephew, his head still spinning a little from his most recent dance floor assault courtesy of the always clumsy, especially when drunk, Private O'Brien."The Ice Queen seems to be having fun."

Snagging a beer from the table, Derek twisted off the top and flicked it across the room into the trashcan with surprising accuracy before turning back to John with a shake of his head, "That's never a good sign, John."

"Yeah, I may be drunk as hell, but I'm pretty sure I just agreed to let her stick needles in my back." Pulling his T-shirt off and tossing it over on to the couch John glanced back over his shoulder at his uncle, unable to entirely suppress a smirk.

Quirking an eyebrow inquisitively, Derek leaned against the support beam beside him looking less than amused, "Don't you already have enough marks on there already?"

"Well that's what I thought, but apparently I need one more." Even John had to chuckle a little at the absurdity of it all, "Cameron is gonna kill me... or Cole, either/or. Maybe both. You might just have to take over the Resistance man."

"So," dropping down into a chair at the side of the table, Derek decided that John's mood had improved to the point where he might actually be able to get a modicum of information from him, "What are ya getting? Sarah's name? Cameron's ass?"

Apparently that comment required more brainpower than John was able to summon at the moment, his face contorting in ways Derek had never seen before outside of a computer problem, "Wait, how can you tattoo someone's ass on... never mind. No, I'm getting the Tech-Com insignia, the one Darla has on her stomach."

Derek's grin morphed almost instantaneously to an odd mixture of glare and disgust, "John, that's not the Tech-Com insig..."

"We ready boss?" Sliding up beside the table, Darla snagged the chair she'd been sitting in before and flipped it around so she could sit directly behind John, taking a moment to plug in the makeshift tattoo gun while grinning around one of Reed's cigars. "I promise, it'll only hurt the first time."

"That's what she said!" Glancing back over his shoulder, not really caring about Derek's half-comment once he'd caught sight of the contraption in his XO's hand, John visibly shivered. "Hold up. First time? How many of these things am I planning on getting?"

In response, Darla just gave him an 'are you stupid?' glance, "Um... have you seen Derek?"

Really having never considered his future contained quite so much ink, John could only shrug, "All right, let's get this over with."

"Hey, I resent that shit! All my ink is special, and there for a reason." Derek's glare only got worse though, now that it was boring into Darla instead of the back of John's head, "And you need to tell him just what it is you're putting on his..."

Plopping down behind Connor and swiping an ice cold piece of gauze doused in rubbing alcohol over a shoulder blade, the major shushed the older man impatiently, yanking the still unlit cigar from her lips and reaching around John to offer it up in front of his face, "If we're gonna do this, let's at least do it right."

Eying it for a long moment, John couldn't help but remember the fact he'd given up smoking for Cameron. Just as quickly however, he remembered his trip to the couch the previous night, his mind offering up a resolute 'fuck it' in response before accepting the cigar between his teeth.

"Good boy." Lighting the cigar with a flourish, pausing only long enough to pat John on the head like a dog, it was hard to see anything beyond the patronizing grin up obscuring Darla's face as she rubbed her hands together in barely contained glee, "This is gonna be sooooo much fun!"

"What's gonna be fun?" O'Brien stumbled into Derek's back, still pissed about losing her dance partner and as usual when drunk, drawn to Cole like a moth to a flame. Pausing just long enough to assess the situation, John's shirtless appearance and the makeshift tattoo gun, Amanda looked more than a little suspicious, "Whatcha doing to him?"

Derek cut in before Darla a chance to charm her way out of it with O'Brien, which wasn't exactly difficult for the woman. "She's giving him a fucking Double-H, Amanda."

"A doub...," Swallowing visibly before looking down at John's back, O'Brien looked even more dubious than she had a moment before. "Um... Connor, you know what that..."

"It's gonna be pimp." Bringing the gun up to John's back, Darla didn't hesitate before starting in on his shoulder, the heavy outline of the shield meaning a large needle and a deep cut that should keep her boss's mind off the bullshit chitchat. On a normal day, there veiled insults and not quite suppressed disdain for her previous job was bad enough, but this was supposed to be a special occasion between her and Connor and she didn't appreciate all the intrusions.

"Fuuucccck!" Exhaling a long stream of smoke with a clear grimace, John had to fight the urge to jump out of the chair, "Are you sticking a damn pencil in my back or something?"

"Come on Johnny," tsking a few times, Darla just kept on with the outline, "You didn't pitch this much of a bitch when O'Brien had her fingers in you last week."

"Isn't anyone gonna stop this?" Derek could barely believe the stupidity level of the room was still dropping despite all his best efforts. Then again, when had anyone listened to him? "We need a sober person, ASAP!"

Despite the atmosphere and the seriousness of the situation, O'Brien couldn't help but giggle, "I think Savannah might still be awake."

"No." Derek shook his head resolutely, going for completely serious but settling for drunken slurring, "She'd walk out with 'Mom' tattooed on her ass and John would still get the tat."

Rolling her eyes, Darla swiped some of the pooling blood and ink off of John's back with a towel before continuing her work, "Hey, I don't do kids."

Apparently having forgotten about what was going on, O'Brien was still suffering through a pretty serious giggling fit, "Connor is only like what? Twelve years old? Savannah's ten... what's the difference?"

"Connor is only three years younger than you numbnuts," Cole snorted, nearly screwing up the line she was working on, barely catching herself in time, "And he's all man. Not that you'd understand."

Her giggling coming to a rather abrupt and, Amanda couldn't help but look hurt by the comment, Darla always knew how to hit her where it hurt the most. "Well at least I'm not fawning all over a married man like some horny teenager."

"Awwww, Connor doesn't seem to mind." Darla scuffed his short-cropped hair with her free hand, "Do ya, Connor?"

Letting out a groan, trying not to chomp right through his cigar, John forced out a quick nod, "Huh? No, I don't mind the pain, just finish the damn thing already!"

"She does have a way with pain." Derek shivered a little, remembering this morning's rehab session and suddenly finding himself less enthusiastic about fucking with Cole. Like... _ever_ again. "John, speaking of your wife, don't you think she'd have just a _little _problem with another woman marking you up like this?"

"My body, I can do whatever I want with it, right?" Pausing just long enough to groan again, John took a long drag off his cigar, actually smiling, "She might try to kill you though, Darla."

"Wow, a machine trying to kill me?" Rolling her eyes while swiping a bit more accumulated blood off John's back, Cole slapped the half-empty bottle of tequila into Connor's hand before going back to work, "Never had that happen before. Outline's done boss, now we're just filling in the color."

"You're not done yet?" Accepting the bottle, Connor figured it would be in his best interests to numb the pain, so that's exactly what he set out to do, "What's taking so long?"

Absolutely despising having to be the 'adult' in the room, Derek snagged the tequila before it made it's way to John's lips, shaking his head, "You want that thing to stop bleeding some time this week? Knock this shit out."

Uncharacteristically, John just snorted, crossing his arms over the back of the chair and laying his chin on them, "Look Darla, it's Captain Kill Joy. You know Derek, I've already got a mother."

"Hold still, would you?" Turning John's head back around with a gentle shove, Cole changed out the needle on the gun and the color, about to get to work on the double helix in the middle, "This is the tricky part, so... be a statue or something."

John rolled his eyes, firing off a mock salute, "Yes ma'am."

Leaning in over Derek's shoulder to get a better look, O'Brien had to give the Operator credit, so far it looked even better than Cole's, "So, who designed this thing anyway? I mean, somebody must have come up with it at some point, right?"

Darla's smile spread practically ear to ear, as if she was telling one of her favorite stories while scribbling on John's shoulder, "Connor did. The machines never thought twice about 'human cultural practices', so they ignored the tats, and never really bothered to recreate them on their skinjobs. It was the perfect identification system."

Connor chuckled, "I'm a pretty smart guy, aren't I?"

Huey chose that moment to saunter over, his nose now straightened out properly, but still framed by angry red and purple where John had flattened it against his face earlier, "What's up with the sewing circle girls? Oh hey, Connor getting a tat?"

Derek nodded quickly, hoping that adding another adult to the group would finally set the kid to rights, "Cole is giving him a Double-H."

"A doub... Connor, you sure about this?" The pilot seemed to be having the exact same reaction as everyone else to the tattoo, only further confusing John.

"If he wasn't sure about it he wouldn't be letting me mark him up, alright?" Cole was practically growling by this point, not at all liking people intruding on what in her mind should have been a very personal thing between her and John, "He did mine, and I really don't see what the big fucking deal is. The General had one and you all know it."

"Yeah, but..." Huey frowned down at the still blissfully ignorant John, "He knew what it meant."

"Yeah, yeah," John's head bobbed side to side where it still rested against his forearms, "Tech-Com, I get it. Now would you all shut up and let the woman work?"

"That's fine." Finally realizing they weren't going to make any progress while John was this wasted, Derek threw in the towel, "I'm done beating my head against the wall. We'll just let Cameron deal with it, _she_ knows what it means."

"Yeah, I'd hate to be in that bedroom tonight... oh wait," Huey's grin was downright shit-eating, "Somebody's still in the doghouse."

Glad to finally have someone reliable on his team, Derek wanted to high-five the son of a bitch, "Total doghouse. What did you do anyways, John? Buy the wrong kind of oil for dinner?"

"Very funny," John grumbled into his arms, "Keep it up guys, I'm always looking for a couple people to dig latrines."

Derek shook his head, realizing there was no more fun to be had in this part of the room, he extended a crooked arm to O'Brien who accepted it happily, "Come on Private, you can toss my ass around for a few more minutes."

"Awesome!" Amanda was practically squealing, "But this time, how about you lead?"

Waiting for the crowd to disperse and get back to their drunken shenanigans, Darla swiped more blood and ink from John's back as she prepared to finish up the coloring in the shield, "Seriously though, Johnny, I've gotta know - just how in the hell do you manage to piss off a cyborg?"

John's frown returned full-force. If he'd known, he wouldn't have ended up on the couch in the first place, "How do you piss off any woman? Easy, walk into a room and sit down, you're bound to have done _something_ wrong."

"Wow," Darla quirked a brow, shaking her head, "Try not to get too bitter there boss, the Connor I knew loved women."

"Yeah... I've heard." Thinking about that only caused John's frown to deepen, "We almost done here?"

"Sure am," Adding a little artistic touch to the bottom corner of the shield she doubted anyone but his wife would notice, Cole leaned back to admire her work, fingertips dancing around the edge while reminiscing about the way they'd celebrated her induction into Connor's secret service - the first time Connor had taken her to his bed, a position she'd enjoyed for more than two years before being sent back to care for this John. "Now you're gonna wanna sleep on your stomach tonight Johnny, but that shouldn't be a problem on the couch."

"You know," Snapping herself out of her reverie, Darla started putting away her supplies, "It's just the two of us now, you wanna tell me what happened? Might help to get it off your chest instead of just beating on the men."

Letting slip a long sigh, John snagged the bottle Derek had left on the table and took a swig, "I Just... ugh! I dunno! She flew off the reservation over nothing. So I took me ring off, big deal, I did it to protect her and I forgot to put it back on. A year ago, she would have understood that."

"I noticed you weren't wearing it at the meeting," It wasn't really a surprise, Darla noticed everything, like a fucking hawk, "Was that all? Took your wedding band off?"

John snorted, "Well, that was after she decided she was horny. I mean, I had an arm full of papers, what did she want me to do? Just drop it all because she was in the mood?" Even John had to shake his head at how ludicrous that sounded, not caring in the slightest he was spilling extremely personal details to Cole. Frankly, it was just nice to have someone on his side for once, someone to vent to.

"She gets... like that?" Darla was too surprised to be disgusted, "Putting sex before important shit?"

He had to stop and think about it for a moment, an odd kind of clarity finally settling in, "You know, I'm starting to think she equates love to sex sometimes. Whenever she's in a... 'funny mood', she just wants sex."

"Is that why you two have been holed up in your room lately?" Cole didn't like what she was hearing, disgust now making itself known, "So she can use you as some kind of sexual Prozac?"

John had never really thought about it that way before, but when his XO put it in those terms, it did seem pretty unfair to him, "I guess you could say that. Oh, and get this, then she just demands that I clear the livingroom so she can dance. I mean, I'm all for her dancing, it's one of the few things she really seems to enjoy, but you know how many boxes of supplies we have down there right now, and half a squad was working on them."

"Are you sure she's... firing on all cylinders, Johnny?" Leaning forward and relighting the cigar he'd apparently forgotten was still clenched in his teeth, Darla shrugged, "That doesn't sound normal, even for a cyborg."

"Look Cole, she's still my wife, and I don't need to hear any jokes about her being defective. Get me?"

"It wasn't a joke," Darla refused to back down in the slightest, "You have a better explanation? If she was human, wouldn't you at least _consider_ the fact she might be having some kind of breakdown? We're all under a lot of stress right now, especially you and those close to you."

John shook his head pointedly, refusing to even consider the possibility, "No. That's... Cameron is... look, she's unique, and she's just working through some shit right now. If she wants her space, then who am I to say she can't have it?"

"Umm, the guy who gave her a home and a life in the first fucking place? The guy who gave her freedom from Skynet? You're the savior of the human race Johnny, you could have anyone you wanted, and the last go 'round you practically did. You gave it ALL up for her," It was Darla's turn to shake her head, "She could at least pretend to be grateful. You saved us too, and look how the men treat you. Humans understand loyalty."

"That's...," John hesitated, her arguments starting to box him into a corner, "That's different. You guys are... well, you're... Cameron is my wife! If she wants to kick me out of our bedroom, that's her prerogative."

"But for what?" Looking him squarely in the eyes, Darla didn't back down an inch, "What would people say if you had kicked her out because she didn't wanna put out, huh? You'd be an asshole! Why does she get a free ride just because she's 'unique'?"

Staring back, John looked just as focused as she did, "What are you trying to say, Cole?"

"I'm saying you let her get away with murder, and I'm pretty sure I mean that literally if she ever actually did it." Darla frowned, fighting the urge to reach up and cup his face, "She's using you... and you're letting her."

Staring off into space, Connor mulled over her points, suddenly having a really hard time disagreeing with them, "So what? You think I should just go up there and demand to be let back into my own home and screw what she wants?"

"I think you need to establish some boundaries," Shrugging, Cole wasn't exactly used to handing out marital advice - especially to Connor, "Like I said, what would people think if it was you who kicked her to the curb for not putting out?"

John had to give her that much, "They'd think I was a dick."

"So why does she get away with it? come on, she's acting like a five year old that had their favorite toy taken away from them, admit it."

"You know what? You're right!" He nodded vigorously in agreement, quickly starting to build up a head of self-righteous steam, "She's acting like a big kid about all this! I mean, at one point she actually looked like she was ready to start stomping her foot if she didn't get her way!"

"And if you let a kid get away with that shit, they just keep on doing it Johnny." Darla leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest in victory, "Are you gonna let her keep using sex against you like some kind of weapon?"

John was still nodding along, already rising from his chair with a new resolution in his eyes, "I should go up there, shouldn't I? Right now! Tell her how I feel about being treated like this."

"Show her who wears the pants around here!" Cole smiled, slapping him on his unmarked shoulder enthusiastically, "It's gotta be done eventually."

Snagging the bottle off the table, John drained the last of it before shoving the empty into Darla's chest and dropping a hasty kiss on her cheek, "I owe you one."

Stumbling backwards a bit and catching himself on a chair, John shook out his head to try and get the floor to stop spinning.

"Whoa!" Suddenly, even Darla started to think this might be a bad idea. Connor had a pretty notorious streak of making bad calls when loaded, and after all, cyborgs did go bad sometimes, "Maybe you should sober up a little first, boss. I've never seen you this drunk before, and that's saying something."

"No, no way! I'm gonna head up there right now. If I leave it, she'll just think I'm weak, won't she?" Without bothering to wait for an answer, he started wobbling in the direction of the door, "Yeah, thanks Darla!"

"Um... Johnny?" Holding up his shirt in one hand with an expression that clearly said 'if you're too drunk to remember your clothes, you should probably reevaluate your thinking', "It's a titty bit nipply out there for the shirtless look, don't you think?"

If his cheeks weren't already flushed enough from the booze, they would have tinted an even deeper shade of red as he stumbled back and snatched the shirt out of her hands, "I owe you another one."

"Then maybe you should take my advice and cool down a little," Darla shook her head, "This won't be the first time that Connor temper got you in trouble. Derek ever tell you about your thirtieth?"

Already in the process of pulling his shirt on, John couldn't for the life of him seem to find the neck hole, "Yeah, he did. But this is different! This is a good idea!"

Rolling her eyes at his thusfar futile efforts, Darla stepped forward and pulled his shirt down his back as gently as possible considering his fresh tattoo, knowing she'd never get through to Connor once he was in full-on 'mission mode'. "Just... be careful Johnny. Kids also throw temper tantrums, and those can get ugly when they're capable of tossing you through a wall."

Smiling gratefully, and more than a little sheepishly, John pulled himself up to his full height, now convinced all Cameron needed to get her back on track was a stern talking-to from her husband. "I'll be fine! She loves me, remember? What could she possibly do?"

"I had fun tonight," Shrugging a little, straightening John's shirt out self-consciously, Darla smiled, "You should come out here more often. You know, like not just when your wife gives you the boot."

John couldn't help but return her smile, irrationally pleased to have a friend who cared so much about him, "I might just do that."

"Wish me luck!" Wobbling back and turning on a heel, he slipped out the door and into the night with a newfound energy.

Shaking her head slowly side to side, Darla waited until the door had thudded closed behind him to turn back to the room, kicking the boombox just hard enough to stop the music, "Uh... Reese? I think I might have just made shit a lot worse."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 15th, 2011  
2351hrs

Rachel, unlike the soldiers currently beating the living hell out of each other a few hundred yard away, was enjoying a much more relaxing evening nestled on the couch beside her favorite cybernetic friend.

It had taken her the better part of an hour to convince Cameron to abandon her one-woman pity party and actually attempt something that might improve her emotional state - a little girl time had seemed the obvious answer to the Corporal, and it seemed to be doing wonders for her. She'd found the cyborg curled up on John's side of the bed practically comatose, tears staining everything from her cheeks to the pillowcase.

She'd been convinced John had left her for good, despite the fact Cameron had apparently been the one to kick _him_ out. It had taken some time and more than a little prodding to get the entire story out of her, but just talking about it, getting it out into the open had caused significant improvement, just as it had when discussing her dream. It was pretty obvious to the woman that most of Cameron's problems revolved around her holding things in, logical loops running everything that was said and done over and over until even a human would have probably gone insane.

Cameron didn't understand emotions, she didn't understand these impulses she couldn't seem to control, so trying to figure them out by herself was proving self-defeating and only making the problems worse. She had regretted kicking her husband out almost immediately after doing it, recognizing the logic behind his arguments once he was no longer there to prod her fledgling temper in the wrong direction. However, then she'd convinced herself that her over-reaction had likely cost her her marriage to John, something Lorne was quick to reassure her couldn't possibly be the case.

Sure, John had been more than a little pissed off when she'd found him on the barracks couch that morning, but he'd seemed more confused than anything else. And really, who could blame the guy? Cameron refused to open up to him about her issues, so he had no idea the extenuating circumstances at play.

So, after more than a little prodding, and a compromise based largely around indulging Cameron's sweet tooth, she'd finally talked her friend into a little much-needed relaxation on the couch downstairs while they waited for John to finish up with his work - Cameron still absolutely refusing to force a confrontation with him for fear of only making things worse.

"How is it possible?" Eyes still glued to the TV, Cameron leaned over to nudge Lorne with her elbow, knocking the other woman from her reverie, "The average litter of puppies is six to ten. It should be physically impossible for a single female to give birth to 101 dalmatians."

"Um..." Quirking a brow and shaking her head while doing her absolute best to avoid laughing - something Rachel had learned Cameron tended to take the wrong way, she responded, "Remember what I said about make-believe when you kept insisting carpets didn't have the durability or aerodynamic qualities required for flight during Alladin?"

Cameron nodded slowly, settling back into her position for a few minutes, every so often lifting a handful of popcorn to her mouth. As always, her silence lasted only a short while before she noticed something else that interested her, "That woman reminds me of Major Cole."

"Cruella Deville?" This time, Rachel couldn't entirely suppress a snort, "Good call. Except she's not nearly horny enough."

The cyborg's eyes never deviated from the screen while munching on a mouthful of popcorn, "What do you mean?"

"Are you kidding me?" Leaning back against the couch and spreading her arms across the backrest, Lorne clarified, "Cole's so hard up I'm surprised she's not dry-humping the furniture."

Finally glancing away from the movie, Cameron's head tilted in it's characteristic fashion, "I was under the impression she was consorting with Derek Reese?"

"She's helping him fix his shoulder, on your husband's specific order." Rachel quirked a brow, "What made you think they're sleeping together? Cause as far as I can tell, they're closer to killing each other than sharing a bunk."

"Just an observation." Leaning back against the cushions with an unusually self-satisfied smile, Cameron watched the movie for a few more minutes before interrupting again, "How long until you go and get John? You promised me if I engaged in 'girl time' you would do your best to make sure he returned."

"Honey..." Lorne looked more than a little reluctant, really not wanting to screw with Cameron's improved mood, "Wouldn't you rather wait until morning, when he's... ya know, sober?"

"I'd... rather not be alone tonight." Cameron began fiddling with the hem of the baggy shirt billowing around her frame - one of the many concessions Rachel had made to get the cyborg out of bed. She'd claimed John's scent helped her remain calm and focused, and it had seemed the easiest way to bring it along with them.

For the first time in hours, Rachel allowed herself to be hopeful, "You've forgiven him then?"

"I've been analyzing the situation, and I believe I acted irrationally." Turning back from the movie, Cameron looked at her friend, "He was wrong to do the things he did, but I still overreacted."

"That's a very mature decision, Cameron." Rachel reached over and gave the cyborg's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "I'm proud of you. Just let me get my boots on and I'll go track down hubby for you, alright?"

Cameron nodded vigorously, looking more enthusiastic about the prospect than Rachel had seen her all night, "I'll stay here and continue watching the movie. I believe it warrants further study. Though it's a mystery why the canines, who outnumber the humans by thirty-three to one don't simply terminate Cruella."

Leaning over to snag her discarded boots, Rachel enjoyed a long laugh, "Yeah, she's a pretty big bitch, isn't sh..."

Lorne's insightful analysis was interrupted rather rudely by the sound of a shoulder slamming into the front door, followed closely by a long, "Owwwwww, fuck!"

John fought with his keys, missing the lock more than a few times, and having to dig through the snow after dropping them before he finally managed to unlatch the deadbolt, shoving open the door with a triumphant smirk, "Heelllloooo? Cam?"

Despite his battered, and clearly drunken appearance, Rachel glanced over her shoulder to find Cameron still smiling, though now tilting her head to the left curiously, "John?"

Instead of returning her smile, John nodded a bit unsteadily, suddenly feeling very hot in his jacket now that he was inside the house. Shrugging out of it and leaning over to set it on the hook beside the door, he missed by a good three inches, the garment flopping onto the floor. Being a man on a mission, he failed to notice, stumbling into the livingroom with a quirked brow, "We need to tal... Lorne?"

Rachel could feel her head tilting in a manner similar to Cameron's, "Um, hi sir. I was actually just coming to find you. Cameron says that..."

"Yeah, I know." John frowned pointedly, already working himself back into the lather he'd achieved before leaving the barracks, "I'm a horrible bastard of a husband who never lets her do anything fun. That about right?"

"Well, no actually." The Corporal found herself rising to her feet, John's attitude not appealing to her in the slightest. She had no desire to let the man undo all of her hard work, "We were just talking about..."

"Me, Cameron, private shit? Like I said, I know." He looked less than interested in continuing the discussion, wanting to get this off his chest while it was still clear in his mind, "You can scamper on back to the barracks, I think I can handle things from here."

"Sir, with all due respect, I don't think your _wife_ is something you should be 'handling' in this condit..."

"With all due respect, _Corporal_, if I want your opinion I'll ask for it." Shaking his head pointedly, John shoved a wobbly finger in her general direction, "Cause I am sure as fuck not about to be kicked out of my own damn house because someone can't handle their temper!"

Rachel only stepped closer, clearly positioning herself between John and the emotionally unstable cyborg at her back, feeling oddly protective of her friend in spite of the knowledge Cameron could tear them both to pieces without any real effort, "Don't you yell at her! She's allowed her own opinion, especially about her husband's behavior!"

"Of course she's allowed her own opinion," John snorted derisively, looking down at Lorne like she was the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks, "Doesn't mean she isn't wrong. I was trying to do my _job_ and she lost her shit because I wouldn't stop on a dime and sex her up!"

"Darla was right!" Connor was only picking up steam, "If I did that to her, you'd all think I was in asshole. Why in the hell should she get away with it?"

"You took your damn ring off!" Glancing back over her shoulder at Cameron, Rachel was shocked to see the indestructible cyborg looking more like a frightened child forced to watch her parents scream at each other than anything else, only fueling her desire to protect her friend, "Besides John, Darla fucking Cole ain't exactly the best person to be handing out relationship advice."

"Why the hell not?" For a few moments John seemed to forget what he was talking about, before remembering and launching right back into his tirade, "She's got a damn good point about this one. I took my ring off to protect Cameron, not to cheat on her. Now, would you _please_ get out of my face so I can talk to my wife."

"No! Not when you're like this." Staring into his face resolutely, Lorne practically begged him to disagree, "And you can't order me to either, so don't even fucking bother."

"It's been a long night, Lorne." John could feel his jaw grinding back and forth in prelude to something neither wanted to be involved in, "I got two hours of sleep on a lumpy couch, I'm hurting in places I didn't know I had until now, and I've had needles jammed into my back. You do NOT want to get in my way right now."

Cameron was starting to get more agitated with every verbal volley, forced to watch the two people she cared about more than anything else in this world squaring off against each other. When she finally summoned enough courage to speak, it was a barely audible plea, "John..."

"No!" Not intimidated by Connor in the slightest, Rachel just glared back, "You will calm down and treat her with respect or so help me I'll..."

"You'll _what_, Corporal?" John closed the distance between them in a single step, "If I was you I'd choose your next words nice and careful."

Rachel's held tilted to one side like a bird of prey, adopting a posture John had rarely seen on the usually easy-going soldier outside of combat, "She's vulnerable right now John, you're not helping in the slightest acting the way you are. Can't you see you're scaring her?"

"Rachel..." All Cameron wanted was for her friend and her husband to stop fighting, but she couldn't seem to find the ability, the words, or the actions that would facilitate it. She'd never felt this helpless before.

"Scaring her?" John scoffed, tossing his arms out to the side, Lorne's continued intransigence only making his mood worse, "You mean like when she was one step shy of kicking my ass last night? Stop making me out to be the fucking bad guy! I've had enough of this shit, get your ass back to the barracks Corporal!"

"I've already told you I'm not going anywhere until you calm down!" Lorne shook her hair out, ready for the worst if it should actually come to that, "And that Corporal shit won't work on me. No order you give will force me to abandon my friend!"

Cameron could feel her fists clenching subconsciously, looking down at them almost in wonder. She wasn't exactly getting angry, but she wanted the yelling to stop. She wanted it to stop NOW. "Please..."

"Since when did people just start ignoring every word that comes out of my mouth?" Glaring slightly over the woman's head, John was trying really hard to keep his cool from shattering completely, the booze flowing through his veins and Cole's speech having already set him in a shit mood to begin with, "This is between me and my wife, there's no need for you to be involved Rachel!"

"Well I am involved," Rachel sneered, at this point more angry about the fact the man was up in her face than anything he'd said or done to her friend, which a few minutes ago she'd been ready to forgive him for, "So suck it up! Otherwise, you might just find your ass out on the couch again tonight!"

Cameron started shaking her head side to side, as if she could physically clear away the chaotic thoughts and harsh emotions rushing through her, screwing her eyes shut and trying as hard as she could to focus on one thing... and failing miserably.

"Well we're sure as hell not gonna get anything ironed out with you standing here nagging me like YOU'RE my fucking wife!" Letting slip a low growl, John hissed a bit when the readjustment of his shoulders dragged his shirt across his still tender back. That seemed to be the final straw for John, reaching forward to move Lorne out of his way, "I said this is between me and Cameron!"

It happened so fast that neither John nor Rachel had any chance to react. One second he was stepping forward to move her out of the way, the next a brownish blur swept past her and he was airborne, John's back slamming into the wall behind him so hard it dislodged a few of the pictures scattered around the room, boots dangling a few inches from the floor with Cameron's hand wrapped firmly around his throat.

"STOP IT!" Oddly enough, Cameron appeared to be the only one in the room who wasn't angry. Rather, she looked terrified, tears streaming down both sides of her face, eyes darting around frantically. She simply wanted everyone to stop arguing, and at the moment, this seemed the best way to accomplish that.

John was too shocked to do much of anything. Despite having built up a massive head of steam, even now he couldn't contemplate any action that might harm his wife, settling for gripping her wrist to try and take pressure off his windpipe, as if afraid he'd hurt her by trying to defend himself, "Cam... having trouble... breathing."

Lorne just stood there for a long moment, eyes bulging out like a cartoon character, or like John's, before hearing Cameron's voice and snapping to, "Cameron, no!"

Reaching forward to try and physically remove the cyborg's arm, Rachel pulled back when her hand only tightened, John turning an odd shade of red as the blood flow began to slow. "You're hurting him! You're hurting _John_!"

"He... hurt you." Cameron leaned closer to her husband, eyes still brimming with tears, so many thoughts and impulses clouding her CPU she barely registered the fact she was choking her husband.

"We were just arguing, Cameron." Lorne shook her head vehemently, doing her best to keep her voice level and calming, "John would never hurt me. He's not that kind of man and you know it! Please, we talked about this... I know it hurts, but you can't hurt other people just because you're in pain."

"He... wouldn't stop shouting." The cyborg's head tilted to the side, eyes oddly unfocused as she replayed the events running up to her assault, "He wasn't acting like my John. My John doesn't shout."

"Your John won't be doing anything anymore if you don't let him go, Cameron!" By this point, Connor was barely conscious, eyes bulging while frantically darting back and forth between Lorne and Cameron for any sign of help, "He was angry. You know what that's like now, it makes you act in ways you never would if you weren't!"

"I didn't do anything..."Cameron kept repeating the words like a mantra, absolutely terrified of the idea of losing her relationship, of losing her John, but seemingly unable to connect that possibility with the simple fact she was choking the life out of him, "I didn't do anything..."

Rachel looked around, at a total loss as to what to do, literally starting to contemplate grabbing the fireplace poker to try and pry Cameron's hand free before John suffocated.

But in the end, it was John who seemed to have a plan, lifting a shaking hand slowly up to Cameron's face, totally incongruously, he cupped her cheek gently, "Cameron... love... you."

Tilting her head to the side, directly into the reassuring physical contact, Cameron's brow cinched together as she tried desperately to comprehend what was going on, to reconcile it with the emotions rushing through her, fresh tears running down her face as her hand began to slacken, "I... love you too."

"I'm... so sorry." Despite her grip, John managed to wiggle his head back and forth a few inches at a time, "Why didn't... you tell me?"

"I... I'm broken." Frowning down at her hand, her HUD flickering wildly, Cameron began to slowly unwind her fingers from around her husband's throat.

Rachel took a tentative step backwards, as if afraid if she interrupted Cameron would suddenly snap again, and realizing that if she did... John was toast.

"Not broken," Swiping the tears from her face with a gentle hand, John's smile was anything but forced, an odd counterpoint to the seriousness of the situation, "_Special_."

"I don't understand!" Cameron insisted vehemently, not at all liking further confusion at this point.

Taking that as her cue, Rachel finally stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on Cameron's shoulder, "You're his wife, Cameron. You're different, you're learning, you're making mistakes... but you're definitely not broken. You just need to learn how to deal with these emotions instead of holding them inside until they erupt. You're smart enough to figure this out, and strong enough to control yourself. I know it, and John knows it."

John nodded along as much as his position would allow, tears forming in his own eyes at the pain he saw on Cameron's face, "I didn't know..."

"I didn't want to say." Cameron stared curiously at the tears in her husband's eyes, knowing beyond a doubt he was telling the truth, yet unable to understand how he could be worried about _her_ when she'd just attacked him. He should want to protect himself. He should want to destroy her. "I was afraid you'd leave me if you knew."

"Please," John could barely keep his voice from breaking, only wanting to take that pain way, "Let me help you."

Seemingly for the first time, she noticed that she had her hand around John's throat, shifting her gaze down her arm to the point of contact, her lower lip quivering as she contemplated what she had almost done. Letting her hand fall away, Cameron snatched his shirt on the way down, unable to handle the raw emotions flashing through her mind, collapsing to the floor in a heap and pulling John down with her, clutching at him desperately.

After a pretty long coughing fit as the air rushed back into his lungs, John wrapped both arms around Cameron's shoulders and pulled her to him as tightly as he could, whispering softly in her ear, "Shhhhh, it's okay now. Just relax, let it out."

Eventually, he glanced up at Lorne, who finally seemed to be calming down herself, "What happened to her?"

Rachel glanced up, having collapsed pretty much right after they had, "She... she had a dream a couple of days ago. She was afraid she was defective, made me promise not to tell you... she's terrified of losing you."

"Never." John just shook his head, letting Cameron curl up against him, suddenly feeling like the biggest asshole in the universe, "Cameron? Cam? There's nothing wrong with you. This is just new, we need to figure out how it all works. What can I do?"

Despite his words, Cameron just continued to sob quietly against his chest, clutching onto his shirt and trying to get as close to him as possible.

Lorne reached out to tentatively brush a few strands of hair back behind her friend's ear, "You need to be there for her, she needs _you_ John. More than you can imagine."

Nodding quickly, John could feel his command instinct taking over, pushing all his doubts to the back of his mind and into the 'deal with it later' category, "We can't let anyone see this. They'll scrap her Rachel... they won't understand."

Swiping at his face a few times, John pushed himself up onto his knees, "Cameron? Can you walk?"

After getting a hesitant nod, he looked over to Rachel, slowly trying to leverage his wife into a standing position, "She seemed alright when I came in, what did you do to calm her down?"

"Um..." Racking her brain while helping John get Cameron up off the floor, Lorne shrugged, "I just helped her take her mind off everything, gave her something to focus on."

"Okay, okay... that's good. That's a good start." Then something clicked in his brain, for the first time realizing he hadn't tried the one thing that might actually help, "Cameron, what do you want? What do you need?"

He couldn't believe it had gotten this far out of hand, he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the changes sooner, so caught up in preparing for the war - in trying to be the General. "Please. What can I do to make this better?"

Cameron sniffled against his shirt, still clinging to his shoulders, "I... I want to go to bed. I want you to hold me."

John looked a little thrown by that, but quickly remembered what Lorne had told him about his wife. She'd had a dream... she'd slept! Why the hell hadn't she just told him that? "You think you need to sleep again? Would that make it better?"

She hid her face away against his chest, still convinced that her sleeping was nothing more than a defect. Truth be told, she didn't know what she wanted, all she knew for sure was she wanted to go back to her bedroom, with her John.

Connor could feel his face contorting into a pained frown, having never felt more helpless in his life. This was new ground for all of them, and he had no idea how in the hell to help her. With humans, sleep was a kind of mental defragmentation, if it worked the same way with her... it was the best he could come up with at this point, "Okay. Come on, Cameron, lets go home, okay? Home?"

Nodding against his chest, Cameron let him guide her towards the stairs, still clutching to him as if afraid letting go would separate them forever.

Wrapping both arms around Cameron's shoulders, John led her up the stairs, taking the trip at whatever pace she needed to try and make sure his wife was comfortable. Eventually making it into their bedroom, pausing a moment to eye the broken glass on the floor near the door frame with a quirked brow, he stepped over it gingerly and led Cameron to the bed with Rachel's help, "You wanna lay down?"

At her nod, John pulled the covers back and helped Cameron climb into the bed, trying to disentangle himself long enough to get his clothes off, "Cam... I need to get my boots off."

Lorne stepped up alongside without the slightest hesitation, "Here, let me."

Crouching down and unlacing his boots for him, Rachel tossed them off into the corner, rubbing her palms together nervously, "Can I... do anything?"

"I honestly don't know." John frowned, having absolutely no clue where to go from here, "She's never been like this before. I don't think she's... no, I KNOW she's not a danger or anything, but we have to help her get this under control."

"Alright. Well, it looks like you might be up here a while." Walking around the other side, Rachel leaned down beside her friend, "Cameron, honey, I'm just heading down to get some things..."

Before she could finish, the cyborg was shaking her head frantically, "No, please..."

"It's alright, Cameron." Slipping under the covers, John lay on his back despite the clear pain it caused, trying to urge Cameron into her customary position, "She'll be right back."

Shrugging in the woman's direction with a 'what are ya gonna do?' look, he smiled, "It's alright with me if she bunks upstairs for now though."

Nodding against his chest, Cameron seemed to settle down considerably, "Will you stay?"

Rachel mustered up a smile as she watched her friend settling down on top of John, brushing a bit of hair back behind her ear, "Of course I will, don't you worry about it. I'm just gonna get a few things from the barracks, and I'll be right back."

"While you're out there," Despite everything else, John couldn't allow himself the luxury of entirely forgetting the world around him, "Tell Cole she's in charge of preparations until further notice, should be easy, I've already handed off the game plan. And I think it would be a good idea if we kept the house clear of anyone but family, for the time being at least they need to take their meals in the barracks."

Nodding crisply, Lorne cast one last glance over the pair before slipping quietly from the room, knowing she'd need a few minutes to compose herself before facing the troops. John was right, if they got word of this... they'd be up here with the metaphorical torches and pitchforks.

After a few long minutes, Cameron shuffled a little, glancing up at her husband's face, "John... I'm sorry."

"For what?" He just shook his head, allowing himself to at least enjoy the feeling of Cameron nestled against him, despite how she ended up there. "I should have noticed something sooner. The way you were acting... I was a moron, Cameron."

"I'm sorry for being broken." Settling back down on his chest and closing her eyes, she reluctantly hoped for sleep, dreams... anything that would stop all the dark and chaotic thoughts racing through her CPU.

"I told you, you're not broken." Smiling softly and dropping a kiss on her cheek, John lay back against the pillow and stroked her hair gently, "Just try to relax now. Think... happy thoughts?"

* * *

T.B.C

Author's note: Huge thanks to Bigbew, who in addition to his usual beta duties, showed masterful ability in the photoshop department by providing a copy of John and Cole's matching tattoos, which you can view by clicking the link in my profile here.


	30. Chapter 30

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 30/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 02/20/11  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language

Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 30 - 'Release'

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 16th, 2011 (16 Days Until Judgment Day)  
0245hrs

Rachel caught herself whistling while slipping back into the house, which was never a good sign. For most people it would have accompanied happiness, or at least that zoned-out state one slipped into during a long and menial task, but for Lorne, it had always been a sign of nagging worry, of mental stress spilling over into the physical realm. Really, who could blame her? Just over two weeks left in this charade the billions who surrounded her called the 'real' world, and everything seemed to be splitting apart at the seams.

Her best friend had nearly killed her husband in a fit of anger, the men had taken their temporary banishment from the house about as well as could be expected... which wasn't really well at all, and here she was with a rucksack full of clothes and a toothbrush in her hand like she was headed to Daddy's for the weekend. Yeah, all in all, things had been better.

But John needed her, and more importantly, Cameron needed her, so she'd shove it down and soldier on. Setting her pack down on the floor and shrugging her coat off onto the back of the couch she'd apparently be residing on for the immediate future, Rachel took a moment to compose herself before climbing the stairs and reentering the lion's den. It wouldn't do anyone any good to show up still tearful and shaky.

After a few deep breaths and a muttered curse or two, she ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, knowing full well how twitchy the occupants of this particular house tended to be on a good day, which this was anything but. The door to Connor's room was closed, no sign of light seeping out into the darkened hallway, which was enough to give the soldier momentary pause.

John was an intensely private person, both now and in the future, and even knowing that she was simply following his instructions it was hard to overcome years of conditioning to the contrary. After an internal debate about whether or not to knock, Rachel eventually decided against it, twisting the handle as quietly as possible and shoving the door open with a lowered shoulder, closing it behind her as quietly as possible before any light from outside could disturb the couple inside.

The lack of movement from the bed had her starting to wonder if this had been a mistake, not entirely comfortable with the idea of waking a sleeping Connor... either of them. But once her eyes began to adjust it became clear that John was still awake, just too focused to shift his attention away at the moment, which was extremely odd for someone who tended to greet an unscheduled arrival with the barrel of a weapon.

He was in virtually the same position as he'd been when Rachel had left to relay his orders and gather up his things, one arm wrapped around Cameron's shoulders and the other alternating between stroking her hair and running down along the curve of her jaw. The only word the soldier could come up with to describe the look on his face was 'awed', as he lay there observing every flicker of his wife's eyelids.

Stepping closer, wincing with every squeak of the ancient floorboards beneath her feet, she spoke in the softest voice she had confidence her boss would be able to make out, "John? It's me... Rachel."

"I know." Despite the lack of light, Lorne could practically hear the smirk in his voice, making her want to kick herself. _Of course he knew._ But what surprised her even more was the way that tiny smirk spread into a full-blown smile when Cameron nuzzled further into his chest, "Did you pass on my orders?"

Nodding a bit stupidly, it took her a long moment to try and reconcile the idea of this man she thought she knew with what was playing out in front of her eyes. She remembered telling Cameron once that John was a different person around her, and now she knew for a fact just how true that statement had been. "Yeah... is she alright?"

"She went out like a light." John was barely able to believe the words coming out of his mouth, but then again, he'd just seen it with his own eyes, "If she was human I'd say she must have been exhausted."

Leaning closer to look at her friend, a tiny twitch of her eyes brought a smile to Lorne's face. It was almost like watching any person sleep... except of course for the fact she wasn't breathing. "What about you, sir? Are you alright?"

"I... have no idea." As always, John seemed reluctant to discuss anything remotely personal with anyone but Cameron, "You, uh... you're gonna need bedding, aren't you?"

"Um, it's okay, I can get it." Looking around, Rachel was forced to turn back sheepishly, "Where is it?"

"In the closet." Connor motioned to the door a few feet to the right of the bed with tilt of his head, "Cameron moved her old stuff in when Savannah took over her room. I'm sure she wouldn't mind you using it."

Rachel turned her attention to the closet her boss had pointed out, again she winced at every single creek of the boards beneath her feet. She briefly considered going on a diet, but that notion was short-lived when she remembered just how scarce food would become very, very soon.

Pulling the closet door open and cursing the squeaky hinges, she fumbled around in the darkness for anything that felt like it could be bedding. From what little she could make out in the darkness almost the entire contents of the closet appeared to be Cameron's clothes, which shouldn't really have surprised her in the least. Casting a nervous glance back over her shoulder towards John, she debated asking him exactly where it was, but she didn't want to risk waking Cameron up.

"You can flip the light on, Lorne." John called from the bed, rolling his eyes in the darkness despite the fact she likely couldn't see it, "I'm pretty sure I could set a bomb off up here and she'd still be out. If she didn't wake up when mom was doing her before bed workout next door, I'd say you're safe."

Creeping across the room, despite what John had just told her, Rachel flipped the switch on the wall, throwing harsh light across the room. Turning back, she couldn't help but feel stupid now that she saw the bedding was right in front of her face the entire time. With a sigh she started pulling out what she'd need for the foreseeable future.

John finally managed to tear his attention away from his wife for long enough to realize it had been a long time since he'd had a chance to use the bathroom. He dropped a kiss on Cameron's forehead before looking up at Rachel, "You uh…mind keeping an eye on her while I use the head?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." Padding over to the bed, Rachel waited for him to disentangle himself from Cameron before setting herself down on the edge of the bed.

Smiling, John patted her on the shoulder before walking a little shakily towards the bathroom, letting out a long yawn on the way. He hadn't slept a wink since climbing in to bed with Cameron and it was starting to take it's toll. After passing along the copious amounts of liquor he'd taken in that night, he pushed open the door before pulling off his shirt with a pained hiss and wetting a washcloth in the sink.

Rachel watched him go before settling in to run an eye over her slumbering friend. She couldn't help but think that she just looked so peaceful as she slept. As she reached out to brush a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, Cameron's face formed into a small frown. It was quick, but it was definitely there. "Aww, are you having another nightmare sweetie?"

"Is something wrong?" John asked from the bathroom sounding slightly panicked. Despite the fact her voice was barely above a whisper, Rachel couldn't help but find it sweet just how on a knife edge John was when it came to his wife in her current state. So sweet in fact he stopped mid wash and stepped in to the bedroom again just in case there was a problem.

"It's fine, she just frowned a little bit." Rachel slipped into a small smile as she returned her attention to her friend, finally getting those hairs out of her face.

"Oh…" He looked more than a little embarrassed at his apparent overreaction, returning to the bathroom with a shake of his head and resuming his wash with more haste than he had before, eager to return to his wife. "I didn't expect her to move in her sleep. Machines that are in standby…it's just not the way they are. Or at least, I didn't think it was."

"Sleep must be different than standby." Rachel tilted her head as out of the corner of her eye she noticed Cameron's hand twitch just a little and tighten her grip on the sheets. A moment later a tiny, almost imperceptible whimper came from her. But just as quickly as it happened, it was gone, replaced by the peaceful look she'd had earlier.

"Damn, bad dreams suck." She whispered, thinking back to her conversation earlier about her nightmare and just how distraught Cameron had been about it. It pained Rachel to see her like that, so scared, so vulnerable. Rachel didn't want to have a rehash of that incident and briefly considered waking Cameron up just to spare her from having to endure it again.

"I really hope nightmares aren't all she's capable of." Finishing up his wash, John tossed the cloth back in the sink and leaned against the door frame, peering in to the bedroom with his arms folded across his chest, looking at his wife with a worried expression on his face, "If anyone deserves a few good dreams…"

As if on cue and as if she'd heard him in her sleep, Cameron stirred again, letting out another whimper, this time rolling onto her back at the same time, turning her head away from Rachel. She could make out the frown clearly present on Cameron's face as her arm lifted up off the bed and bent at the elbow, coming to rest lightly on her shoulder before dropping back to the bed again in a different spot. It was obvious to Rachel that she was having another bad dream and it killed her that she couldn't help her friend. Sure she could wake her, but she had a feeling sleep was exactly what Cameron needed right now.

Cameron seemed to settle for a moment before rolling over on to her side again, her hand shifting and gripping at the sheets again. "Uh, does she always do this?" Rachel asked as she tore her eyes away from Cameron and looked up at John.

"How would I know?" John asked, matching Cameron's frown with one of his own. Stepping closer to the bed, he quirked his head to observe his wife, her normally placid features looking more tortured than he'd ever seen before, "She wasn't doing it earlier, though. She's been quiet since she fell asleep."

Rachel looked down in alarm as Cameron released a low moan of quite obvious displeasure. She felt such a pang of sympathy as her frown deepened and her simulated breathing started up suddenly, becoming more ragged by the second. Her hand roamed around the bed, gripping at random intervals.

Desperately seeking to help her friend, Rachel did all she could think of and reached out to tenderly stroke her hair. She felt a little silly doing it but she felt she had to do something to help, "Shhhh, it's okay Cameron, you're okay, shhh, calm down."

"Did she…talk to you about any of this?" John asked, tearing Rachel's attention away, looking more worried by the second as he walked around the side of the bed to stand behind Rachel. She could tell he was reluctant to get back into the bed at the risk of waking Cameron up, "What could be causing it?"

Rachel shook her head, she honestly had no clue how to answer him, no matter how much she wished she could, "No, she just said she'd slept, and dreamed. She never mentioned any of this…but then, she probably didn't know."

Cameron meanwhile continued to whimper unhappily in obvious distress. She rolled over closer to John's side and buried her head in her pillow.

"I hate this." Crossing his arms over his chest, John started pacing the room behind Rachel, stopping after a few steps and whirling around, "Rachel, I have no idea how to help her. As far as I knew two days ago, this wasn't even possible!"

Rachel had had enough. She couldn't just sit back and watch her best friend in such an obviously unhappy situation. Just as she was about to reach out and try to rouse her, Cameron moved again, this time her hand latched on to John's pillow and tugged it closer. Her entire body curled closer to the pillow and she snuggled her head towards it. Rachel watched, astonished as Cameron's frown disappeared almost instantly and her breathing settled in to a slower rhythm.

Lorne turned slowly to find the face of an equally bemused looking Connor with her mouth hanging open, "Did you see that? She just…calmed down right away."

"She just needed to hug a pillow?" Shaking his head at the absurdity of the words leaving his mouth, John walked back over to the bed and sat down on the edge next to Rachel, "What does that have to do with a nightmare?"

Rachel quietly observed as Cameron tugged the pillow even closer, right next to her face as she settled down again. She examined closely as Cameron's nose twitched a minute amount, air rushing quickly in and out. Like a light bulb switching on, it all suddenly made sense to her. The roaming hand, the whimpers as soon as John moved…she was searching for something, or someone. Turning her head towards her General slowly, Rachel's face took on a look of awe, "John, she was looking for you. She lost you and couldn't find you…it scared her."

"She knew that…in her sleep?" Quirking a brow, John motioned for Rachel to stand up. Running a hand over the side of Cameron's face, he gently rolled her back on to her side of the bed before climbing in and settling in to his customary position beside her and waiting to see what would happen.

Rachel watched as Cameron immediately felt the loss of the pillow and her face formed a now familiar frown. Now on her back, her hand came up again, this time her fingertips barely brushing her chin. Being unsuccessful in her quest for John's scent, she started to whimper again, this time with more urgency than earlier.

Rachel sat back and watched the whole thing, she couldn't help but start to get a little pissed at John. "John, stop being cruel, just give her the pillow back."

But when she reached forward to take care of the problem herself, John caught her wrist gently in his hand, shaking his head, "Wait a minute. I know you're just trying to help, but if you really want her to get better, we need to understand how this works."

Rachel stepped back with a nod, still feeling more than a little miffed at John's callous attitude towards his wife's behavior, almost as if he was treating it as some kind of science experiment. Then again, Connor had always had this way of detaching himself from things, of stepping back to observe with a cold, logical eye when it was necessary.

Cameron seemed to be responding to the loss as she rolled over towards John, the movement of her body bringing her hand to a natural resting spot on John's chest, right over his heart. Having seemingly found what she was seeking, she rolled over yet further, draping about a third of her body across his, her face coming to rest on his arm.

The smile that spread across her face at the renewed contact with her husband astonished Rachel, Cameron's hand tightened just a little on his chest as she subconsciously laid claim to the man beside her.

"See?" John smiled, sliding an arm underneath his wife and pulling her gently into her customary position, head resting on his chest, dropping a kiss on her hair, "Shhhhh, all better now, Cameron. I'm right here."

"Wow, that is...that is..." She stopped, stumped for words at what she was witnessing, if anything Cameron's smile only grew as she was hefted on to her husband's chest. Rachel had always known she was dependent on John, reliant on him to guide her, to be her friend, to treat her as more than just a machine. But now, even in her subconscious, Rachel marveled at just how much her life revolved around John, despite the distinct possibility of it becoming a problem in the long run.

"I guess I won't be getting anything done while she's sleeping, will I?" Oddly, the usually work-oriented General didn't seem to begrudge her this new 'weakness' in the slightest, "She's always been there for me, Rachel. I owe this to her. I just... I can't believe I let it get this far."

With a nod, Rachel crouched beside the bed and propped her head up on her folded hands. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to disturb a now peaceful Cameron, but eventually she reached out and brushed her fingernails tenderly over her cheek, "What do you think is going on with her?"

"Honestly?" John seemed reluctant to broach the subject with her, which was only to be expected. Despite being Cameron's best friend outside her husband, Rachel was from the future. The soldiers he'd been exposed to had very deeply ingrained feelings about the machines... about them going bad, and they were usually very negative.

Rachel looked up, not at all liking the serious and almost defeated sounding tone in his voice, at the same time retracting her hand. "Yeah, I just want my friend back...is that gonna happen?"

"I'm sorry Lorne... but I doubt it." He tried to shrug, but it was difficult with that much cyborg weighing you down, "At least not the way she was before. The only reason I can come up with for her sleeping is that her emotions have developed so far that her CPU needs the equivalent of a subconscious to regulate it. By fighting it for so long... she basically forced herself into a breakdown."

Rachel's eyes grew wider with every ominous sounding word, not at all liking what he was implying. "Breakdown?" She asked, a slight quiver in her voice as she glanced down at her peacefully slumbering friend, "You mean she might never recover from this?"

John fell into that deep quiet that always seemed to accompany his brain working in overdrive, and considering how tired he looked, she couldn't really blame the guy, "You lived through the future war. Now, deep down you know that machines aren't going to come smashing through the walls with guns blazing. But... that doesn't stop you from waking up in a cold sweat some nights, does it?"

Frowning down as her hand gripped the sheets unconsciously, Lorne picked her head up and tried to steel her face before answering. She'd honestly intended her voice to come out strong, but instead it emerged in a whisper, "Sometimes."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," John smiled, patting her hand in an effort to get the soldier to relax, "Believe it or not, so do I. And now... so will Cameron."

Resting her head back down on her arms, the soldier found the metaphor oddly soothing. At least it was something she could relate to her own experiences, "Poor thing. She doesn't deserve any of this."

"She's strong, and she has us." She couldn't help but notice John looked more determined than sure about the words leaving his mouth, "She'll be fine. We just have to be patient with her, help her understand what she's feeling and why."

"That's why I need you, why _she_ needs you." Running a hand through his short-cropped hair while suppressing a yawn, he seemed to suddenly grow uncomfortable. In all honesty, he wasn't used to _asking_ his subordinates for help, especially with something as sensitive as his wife's protection, but he just didn't have it in him to make this an order, "You know, we're coming up on Judgment Day."

Sensing how difficult this was for her General, Lorne just nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue.

"We're going to be occupying a major installation, living beside hundreds of people - soldiers and civilians that have no idea who and what we are." Glancing down at Cameron, a sad smile spread across John's face, "What are people going to think when they meet my wife, Rachel?"

Rachel couldn't help but frown, immediately seeing the younger man's point, "But... she'll be better by then, right? Well, not better, but, you know... better?"

"I can't be there to protect her twenty-four hours a day, Lorne. Neither can you." Connor looked more than a little disturbed at the prospect, "I'll do everything I can to prepare her, to try and get this under control, but I need help. Those people will have just watched as everything they know and love was destroyed by the machines. If they find out what she is, it won't be pretty."

Glancing down just in time to see Cameron's eyes twitch again, Rachel nodded slowly, "I know, sir. But she's an infiltrator, she could have fooled me. In fact, she told me she fooled you at first. She can do it again, I'm sure of it."

"I don't think it works that way anymore." Stroking Cameron's hair gently, John tried to get her to settle back down, "What if someone upsets her? Confronts her? How am I supposed to explain the fact my wife is barely functional around anyone but me?"

"I... I don't know," Rachel admitted sadly, "But she can't stay like that forever."

"Agreed. Until that day though, we have to do something." The General appeared to be racking his brain for a long moment, searching for any way out of this problem, "We can probably get them to cut her some slack if it's believed she lost a lot on J-day. But Rachel, someone needs to teach her how to appear human. If she can't fool the men, we're in trouble."

Lorne quirked a brow in confusion, "How to appear human?"

"Yeah," He shrugged as much as possible with Cameron on top of him, "Lets just be honest, she doesn't exactly blend in all the time."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Rachel chuckled, "But that's just her, it's who she is."

"Okay, then answer me this," John held up a hand to cut off any protests, "Forget you know her. If you met Cameron tomorrow, as she is now, what would you think?"

Rachel frowned pointedly while stopping to think of a truthful answer. After a long moment, she was forced to admit that he had an undeniable point. She would probably assume the poor girl had some sort of mental or emotional deficiency - certainly enough to raise suspicion at the very least.

As quickly as the thought had occurred to her though, she knew she would do whatever it took to protect her friend, "What do you need from me, sir?"

"I honestly don't know. How do you teach someone not to bring attention to themselves?" Letting his head flop back tiredly, John closed his eyes in frustration, "A few quirks are expected, especially with everything these people will have just gone through. We just need to limit them in public."

"She needs to eat, socialize, be girly on occasion... probably wouldn't hurt if she was a little less put together too. You're the expert, Corporal, but I doubt people look as clean as she likes to after the bombs drop."

"Gee, thanks boss. 'Help your friend look like shit, Rachel.' Cameron will love that, I'm sure." Quirking a small smile, the soldier shook her head, "You mean she needs to act more like one of us instead of a perfect human like Skynet programmed her to imitate?"

"I..." John paused, realizing a huge hole in his plan for the first time and kicking himself for never having considered it before, "I have no idea what her background is supposed to be, if anyone asks. But if we expect people to believe she's just another one of my soldiers who I happened to marry... well she doesn't exactly fit the bill, does she?"

"They'll just have to believe what you tell them, sir." Rachel shrugged, "They'll ignore her eventually if she manages to blend into the background. Soldiers have a way of getting distracted by the new and shiny."

Stifling another yawn, John chuckled at that, "I don't suppose I could convince you to go a little nuts to draw attention away from her, could I?"

"You want nuts, sir, try Cole." Shaking her head with a quiet sigh, Lorne patted Cameron's hand gently, "She'll be alright. Once they realize she's just another girl she'll be fine. Hey, you could just tell everyone you're childhood sweethearts or something. Sure, you'll lose a few man cards for it, but they'll accept it. Sir, there's no denying you two share a special bond, anyone around you two for more than five minutes can see that."

Realizing just how much he needed Rachel's help, John decided to voice one of his greatest concerns, despite the fact he figured there was a good chance Cameron's best friend might smack him for it, "I would never accuse Cameron of being an... impediment to my command. But I'm afraid there are those who will question my judgment if they think I married a headcase."

True to form, Rachel's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Then why don't you just stick with the angle that she's just a regular girl, sir. Not military, not a soldier, just the girl you love. Keep her out of the war as much as possible. It's what they'll expect, anyways."

Nodding slowly, John settled back into the pillows, tucking his free hand behind his head, "What I need from you is to teach her how to be around people, to interact."

Though he was trying to sound self-deprecating, they both knew the truth in his next words, "That's not exactly something I can teach. You can't teach someone how to be normal when you've never been even close."

Rachel felt an unexpected pang of sympathy at the realization that she probably led a more sociable life than her General, despite the handicap of being born just after J-day. "I can do that, sir. Or, I can try at least."

Gathering up her bedding with a small smile, Lorne caught herself before opening the door, "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it..." Shuffling her feet like a five year old, Rachel managed the odd feat of shrugging and bobbing her head at the same time, "Would it be alright if I spent some time with her tomorrow? I know you want to help her, but I think that..."

"I'm sure she'd love that. I have things I need to take care of anyways. If she's up to it, I'll send her down around lunch." Cutting off the woman's stuttering before it could deteriorate anymore, Connor smiled, "Now get some sleep, we've got a lot of work to do."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 16th, 2011  
0749hrs

"You're a sick fuck, Huey!"

From the look of the scout sniper chasing Connor's personal pilot down the stairs while swinging wildly for the back of his skull, still clad in a white t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting boxers, Derek had chosen an... interesting moment to make his way into the barracks.

One thing that could be said for the life they lived - it was rarely boring.

"Hey!" Hitting the ground floor and rounding on his attacker, Lieutenant Hendrix barely managed to duck under another barrage while trying his best not to laugh at the way O'Brien's face was doing a pretty good imitation of her hair, "It's not my fault you didn't knock!"

Letting slip a growl at the older man, Amanda pointed a shaky finger right into his chest, "I shouldn't have to! You shouldn't be doing _that_ before I've even had my coffee!"

Reese stifled a laugh while falling into an empty seat around the dinner table, shaking his head when Austin tried to offer up a massive serving bowl full of what appeared to be some of the nastiest scrambled eggs he'd ever seen.

By the time he'd had a chance to get himself under control, the two combatents had brought their argument to the table, O'Brien still red-faced with anger, "Seriously, ever heard of self control?"

"Hey," Huey snorted in good humor, slopping some of his scrambled eggs onto a plate before handing the bowl down the line while eying the meal with a grimace, "I was in perfect control of myself, Private. I've had lots of practice."

Helping herself to her own portion of hotplate eggs, Amanda growled, "I so did not need to know that."

"Listen champ," Huey drawled lazily, "I'm as useless as Lorne before coffee without my mornin' 'relaxation', ya hear? Ain't my fault the shower in the house is off limits while Connor knocks out whatever new secret project he's got brewing."

"Ewwwww, that's what you're doing in the shower every morning?" Descending the stairs next to a clearly disgruntled Dooley, Coons looked torn between the urge to be sick and the urge to pummel the pilot, "I am so investing in some flip-flops!"

"Don't see what you have to bitch about," Dooley groused while flopping into the seat next to Derek while rubbing his goatee absently, "It isn't like Connor just ordered you to remove your manhood."

"Would you drop that shit already?" Letting slip a theatrical sigh, Claudia spun the chair on the other side of Carmack around and straddled it while reaching for the bowl. "We're posing as soldiers, dipshit, and real soldiers have regs for their appearance."

Derek quirked a brow, glancing back and forth between the sulking soldier and his apparently pissy girlfriend, "He bitching again?"

"Are you kidding? He hasn't shut up since we got our new orders," Rolling her eyes in typical Coons style, she shoved a mouthful of runny eggs down her throat with obvious distaste, "Dooley's acting like Connor just told him to cut off his junk or something. It's just a fucking beard, LT."

Grimacing at the slop the soldiers were trying to pretend was edible, Reese shrugged, "I thought you had him whipped into shape?"

Claudia just snorted at that, stealing the salt right out of Austin's hand and practically pouring it over her 'eggs', "Hey, I offered to shave it for him. For some reason I can't understand he doesn't like the idea of me near his jugular with a razor."

For the first time since sitting down, Derek caught himself looking to Carmack with a touch of sympathy, "Well, you are running on one kidney. That's gotta have some effect on your steady hand, right?"

Apparently that had been over the line, because Coons was doing a pretty passable impersonation of The Exorcist the way her head slowly pivoted to face him, "Will you all just shut the fuck up about that already? I could still shoot the flies off your stank ass, Reese!"

Derek leaned back in his chair, head quirking slightly to the right, "It was a joke. What crawled up your ass and died?"

Raising an eyebrow with a textbook _'really?'_ look, Coons shook her head, "I dunno, LT. It's a few weeks before J-day and I'm eating food worse than I left behind in the future when I should be enjoying every last bite of decent shit we have. Oh, and _someone's_ drunk ass fell asleep on me last night before we got to any of the good parts."

"Happens to the best of us." Ignoring the glare Carmack shot him when he slapped the younger man on the back, Derek shrugged, "Anyway, it's not like we won't have the chance to eat until we drop over the next two weeks. Be patient."

Dooley scoffed, "Says the guy who isn't locked out of the fucking house."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Derek wanted absolutely no part of whatever was going on inside that house, and was about to let everyone know it when he caught sight of his target wandering down the stairs, one hand firmly latched to the side of her head, obviously nursing a massive hangover.

Not even bothering to excuse himself, Reese hopped up from his chair and made a beeline for Cole, snagging her by the upper arm as soon as her boot had hit the floor and hauling her over to a relatively quiet section of the barracks before anyone had a chance to get suspicious.

Yanking her arm back with a murderous glare, Darla shrugged her hair out of her face and stepped back as far as the wall would allow, "Don't fucking touch me! This your newest attempt at manners or are you looking for some free facial reconstruction?"

"Shut up, Cole." Giving her a look that told her exactly how little she intimidated him, Derek closed the distance between them, "What the fuck was that all about last night?"

Crossing her arms over her chest with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Darla was no more intimidated by him than he was of her and it showed loud and clear, "What was what about?"

Derek stared at her for a long moment, having absolutely no patience for her playing dumb, a hair lodged firmly up his ass that had been there ever since he'd sobered up that morning and had a chance to think about what happened the night before, "You, giving Connor that tattoo. What else would I be talking about?"

"Dunno, it seems these days you never actually _stop_ bitching." Leaning back against the wall, she shrugged, "It was time for Johnny to start learning about who he needs to be to win this war. I didn't see you bitching when I gave him the jacket."

"Jackets can be removed through choice. Ink on his fucking back is different, especially considering what it means." Derek paused only long enough to renew his glare, "And you weren't exactly talkative when it came to what it meant."

"Listen Rees, cause I'll make this really simple for you." Shoving off the wall, Cole squared her shoulders, "You all tried to intrude on something that was none of your business, it still isn't, and it never will be. It's between me and Johnny, get me?"

"'Johnny', doesn't love you! There's nothing between you! Marking up his back like that isn't going to change anything." Not willing to back down, Derek got right into the Operator's face, "Or are you forgetting that there's a fucking cyborg standing between you and him?"

Glaring for a long moment, jaw grinding away in typical Cole fashion, she responded in a voice so icy it would have caused the nut-hairs to drop off a lesser man, "You have no idea what Connor and I have been through together... what I've done for him!"

"You're right," Derek conceded in a growl, "And I don't give a fuck! We don't need that man to win the war, we need Connor, a Connor who's still at least capable of feeling something. Not the machine that guy was in the future."

Darla just shook her head, looking extremely close to violence. It might have gone there had O'Brien not passed by on the way back upstairs to get dressed. As it was, Cole forced a sneering smirk, leaning close to Derek and whispering in his ear, "I know. Why do you think he sent _me _back?"

Before he had a chance to respond, she'd spun on a heel, snagged her jacket from it's hook, and slammed through the door so hard the impact echoed through the woods like a gunshot.

After firing off a glare to cut short the curious looks crisscrossing the room before anyone could be stupid enough to question him, Reese charged after Cole, slamming the door closed just as hard as she had. Less than fifteen steps into the snow though, he was already regretting the fact he hadn't thought to grab his jacket.

"Hey!" Bounding forward both in an effort to close the distance and get his blood flowing to his hands, Derek tried to yell over the wind, "We're not done!"

"You don't know shit, Reese!" Letting slip a low growl, Darla only picked up speed, practically kicking up a cloud of snow in her wake, "And it ain't my job to enlighten you!"

Wrapping his arms around himself to try and ward off the cold, Derek trudged on after her, "Enlighten me anyways! What is it you believe you and him have exactly? 'Cause I sure as shit don't see it from here."

Darla spun around so quickly that the older man nearly barreled into her, looking ready to hit him, "You don't want him to be that man, huh? 'The Machine' everyone hated? Well let me tell you something - as much as you hated him, he hated himself even more! But none of you gave a fuck about that! none of you really cared about him! He was just a means to an end, your best shot at survival. That was _all_!"

Derek was a bit thrown by that, having never seen the operator speak so vehemently about anything before, shaking his head in disbelief. "Do you... are you really in love with the kid?"

"Of course I am! He meant more to me than you can ever imagine!" It was Cole's turn to shake her head, barely able to contain tears, but totally unwilling to show the slightest weakness in front of Derek fucking Reese, "I came back for him! FOR HIM! To stop him from being exactly what you're afraid of him turning into! To love him! To teach him to care about something besides the fucking war!"

"By turning him into a cold, heartless bastard?" Derek scoffed, "Because that's what you and your little group were, Cole. Nothing but emotionless killers. No better than the machines you preached against using!"

"You piece of shit...," Looking on the verge of violence again, Cole spun around on a heel and stomped down into the nearest weapons cache, but not before tossing a parting shot out just loud enough for him to hear under her breath, "Then again, how could I expect a Reese to understand loyalty?"

Suddenly, instead of being irritated, Derek felt a red mist descend over his eyes as he charged down the steps after her, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means, numbnuts?" Spinning around to face him, Darla was frighteningly still, the only movement of her body were her firsts slowly clenching and unclenching, "What have you ever done to deserve the loyalty he shows you? You doubt him! You call him a machine! A Killer! You wouldn't even be here if your brother wasn't some half-assed sperm donor!"

Under normal circumstances, Derek would never hit a woman except maybe in self defense, but Cole was pushing it - especially bringing up Kyle like that. "John will treat me how he wants and I won't say a fucking word. At least I'm not trying to worm my way into his life by sticking out my tits and fluttering my eyelashes."

"Answer me this, Reese," Stepping right into his face, she was practically begging for him to make the first move so she had a justifiable reason to put the hurt on him, "Who do you think he has a better chance of staying human beside? Me, or that fucking machine? You say I'm a killer? He's already married to one!"

"At least she loves him for the man his is, not just the rank he carries." Derek shook his head, "And you need to cut this personal vendetta you have against him and the metal, or it'll get you killed one of these days... and it won't be by her."

"Johnny would never hurt me," Cole scoffed, donning that infuriating smirk of hers, "And in the end, that's what really bothers you, isn't it? He's seen my value, _Lieutenant_!"

Derek couldn't help but chuckle, making sure he was right in her face when he did it, a smug grin of his own tugging at his lips, "Real mature, Cole, pulling out the rank card. And don't for one second think that dear Johnny would hesitate to choose her over you. Hell, you're nothing more than a piece of ass the General sent back once he'd ridden the fun out of."

Unfortunately, he'd decided to prod her in the chest to punctuate each of the last three words, which when he'd thought back about it later hadn't been the smartest idea Derek had ever had.

"I said..." Looking up at him from under the curtain of her bangs, there seemed to be the slightest tick in Cole's eyes as years of combat instincts took over in the space of a second, a feral grin spreading across her face.

"Don't!" In the blink of an eye, Darla swiped a forearm across her body, driving the arm Derek still had extended between them out to the side.

"Fucking!" Before he had a chance to get his hand back up, she launched forward, driving a palm into his neck just below his Adam's apple, just hard enough to stun him and rob him of breath.

"Touch me!" Following up her quick combo with a vicious hook to the temple to punctuate her last word, Derek flopped back into the wall behind him, a battered M60 slipping from it's hook and smashing into the top of his head before dropping to the floor with an awful clatter.

All Derek could do was stagger off the wall, one hand propped up on a work bench to keep him from toppling over completely as his shifting vision zeroed in on the woman less than five feet away looking like she wanted to rip out his lungs and feed them to him. "Hit a nerve did I? Little girl?"

"No. You just forgot who you were fucking with." Feinting to the right just enough to get Derek to drop his guard in defense, Darla launched forward and slammed him back into the wall again, following right behind and slamming a knee into his gut, using his momentum to toss him over a hip and onto the floor.

After a long fight to get his eyes to stop rolling around in his head, Reese suffered a small coughing fit while trying to sit up.

Apparently starting to come back to her senses, the rush of adrenaline fading just enough for her to realize what she was doing, Cole swiped sweaty palms across her pants while glaring down at him, "If you know what's good for you, you'll get the fuck out of here while you're still able to walk."

Halfway to a standing position, Derek lashed out with his leg, sweeping Cole to the floor and using his superior weight to pin her down with his knee as he grinned smugly in her face, "What's the matter? Forget who you were fucking with?"

Something in the Operator seemed to snap at the sight, her upper body springing off the floor as she slammed the top of her skull directly into Derek's face, howling in rage as she tried to yank her hands free, "I'll kill you!"

Reese couldn't help but stagger back, the force of the blow causing a torrent of blood to run simultaneously down the front of his face and the back of his throat. Shaking his head violently in a vain attempt to clear the ringing, he watched Darla spring to her feet, throwing a right hook with everything he had to try and drop her before she was ready.

Swatting his arm aside with what could only be described as a cry of pure rage, Cole didn't hesitate before slamming a palm into Derek's injured shoulder and following it up with a harsh kick right to the center of his chest.

Seeing him there, leaning back against the wall with blood running down the front of his face, she practically screamed, "Why does it even matter to you?"

"Because..." Clutching at his shoulder with his free hand, he was too busy trying to get the world to stop spinning to fight back at the moment, "Connor... is to... important... to let you... ruin him."

"He's all I have left!" Grabbing Derek by the shirt, Cole slammed her forearm down into his collarbone, just inches from his ruined shoulder, using the forward momentum to slam him back to the concrete floor. Towering over him, trying to catch her breath, she couldn't help but believing the older man was finally spent. Despite suffering a lot less damage, she wasn't faring much better, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, the hands pinning him to the ground actually shaking, "I left everything I knew for him! He made me what I am, then he fucking abandoned me!"

Using his legs to push up and force the much smaller woman over the top of him, Derek managed to stand just a second before she did, roughly grabbing a handful of long hair and forcing her face close to his as she struggled. Realizing he couldn't hope to win a direct confrontation, he decided to take the more subtle route, "We don't need you to make him that man! We don't need that man. John's better off without you!"

Grabbing the wrist and elbow of the arm buried in her hair, Darla twisted it around until he was forced to release his death grip, them ramming him face-first into the wall. As soon as he started to lose contact she lowered her shoulder and charged back into him with everything she had, pinning him with her face right beside his, "Fucking STOP!"

"I'll stop when you agree to cut out your bullshit fawning over John. He's not your Connor, get over it!" Ignoring the pain in his twisted arm, Derek put his boot against the wall and shoved off with all his strength, both of them covering the short distance to the far wall, Darla getting sandwiched between his bulk and the wall with a terrific crash as more weapons tumbled to the floor around them.

Spinning back around and putting some distance between them, both seemed to understand the impass they'd reached. Derek didn't have a prayer in hell of winning this fight without a gun, and Darla would never have killed anyone this close to Connor without a direct order, no matter how angry she was.

After standing there for a long moment while using the opportunity to catch her breath, a new light seemed to enter Darla's tear-soaked eyes as a year of pent-up frustration poured out, "What are you afraid of, Reese?"

"Me, afraid?" Despite the pain it caused him, Derek actually laughed out loud at that, "I'm not the one clinging to the guy like he's my fucking mommy. What? Afraid he'll wake up one day and realize he doesn't need you anymore?"

"He'll always need me, Reese, and people like me." Cole's voice was oddly cool, resigned even as she smirked at him, "To deal with traitorous fucks like you, who don't have the _balls_ to do what's necessary!"

For Derek, that was the last straw. You could call him a lot of things - a dick, a schmuck, a dumbass - but you did not call him a traitor to Connor if you wanted to walk away from it. Snapping off a quick uppercut before she had a chance to react, he could feel the desire to beat some sense into the woman taking a firm hold in the front of his mind.

After pausing to spit out a mouthful of blood, it was Darla's turn to laugh, arms hanging limply at her sides, "Finally! Something other than bitching from the surviving Reese boy! A few more of those we might actually have to promote you to 'man' status!"

Fueled by rage and more than a little adrenaline, Derek waded into the fray with fists swinging wildly, despite his injuries slowing him down significantly.

Cole sidestepped the first haymaker easily, but instead of the vicious response he was expecting, she just backhanded him across the mouth while looking more crazed by the second. "How the fuck could someone like you be related to Connor? Where's that killer instinct? Come on! DO IT!"

Letting out a low growl after spitting out a mouthful of blood, Derek decided it was way past time to use his weight to his advantage. Lunging forward with a lowered shoulder, he grabbed her around the waist and tackled her right to the floor. A swift punch to the gut, followed by a much harder hook to the ribs, at least seemed to limit her struggling to a minimum, "Doesn't matter who I'm related to, it won't stop me from kicking your scrawny little ass!"

Darla smiled sickly, blood staining her teeth and her eyes turning glassy as she laid passively on the floor, satisfied she'd finally riled the man up enough for her purposes, "Then do it you pansy fuck! Finish it!"

It was in that very moment that Derek's brain finally decided to start working again, as if snapping back to the front after being drowned out by the torrent of anger and insults. Instead of the vicious killer he'd always imagined having to stand off against, the woman beneath him looked battered - broken, and not just in a physical sense.

Like the Operator she'd been trained to be, she was mind-fucking him. Using him. In the end, he hadn't needed to convince her of the futility of her affections - she'd already known. And now, she was trying to use Derek to end it. She wanted him to snap, to kill her... to put her out of her misery.

If anyone could sympathize with the way coming back in time could make you feel out of place, abandoned, it was Derek Reese. Now that he'd taken the time to actually look, the signs were all there. And as much as some small part of him wanted to just give in to her desires, for her sake and his own, a much bigger part was forced to admit just how right she was - they were going to need her, and people like her.

Grabbing her by the plackets of her shirt, Derek hauled her to a standing position in front of him, shaking his head slowly while willing himself to calm down, "Would it stop your shit if I beat you to a pulp right now?"

"Connor would have..." Darla looked physically pained at the realization her plan hadn't worked, wondering just why in the hell the volatile soldier had let her down the one time she'd been counting on him. Despite how much she hated herself for it, she couldn't stop fresh tears from rolling down the sides of her face. She was lost, alone... and it hurt.

Staring at her, Derek smiled sadly, unable to handle just how defeated the woman in front of him looked, "I'm not Connor."

Nodding slowly, Cole leaned forward until she was propped up against his chest, looking oddly focused on his face, "But you're close... aren't you? Just need... the proper... motivation."

Quirking a brow at the woman leaning against him, Derek fired off the first words to come into his head, "Then motivate me."

"Just make sure you remember, Reese." Wrenching her arms free in one smooth motion, for a split second Derek was sure she was about to knock the piss out of him, but was even more surprised when she lunged forward and grabbed both sides of his head, pulling him to her so harshly their teeth clacked together as she began to seemingly try and crawl inside of him, "You don't know... who you're... fucking with!"

Eyes widening in sheer surprise, Derek fought to pull back despite the teeth nipping at his lower lip. Staring at the flush-faced woman in front of him for a long moment, the soldier simply shrugged before wrapping his arms around her and yanking her back to him with equal force, this time squeezing back almost painfully.

Letting slip a low groan into his mouth, Cole shoved him back onto the cold concrete with a feral grin. If he'd gone for slow and gentle she honestly would have killed him. After pulling back just long enough to shed her coat, she set to work on his belt without even bothering with her shirt, smirking at his apparent indecision, "Come on, Reese! Don't tell me you've forgotten how to do this?"

Sitting up and grabbing the hem of her shirt, Derek let out a low growl as he whipped it off her head, grabbing a handful of hair and forcing her lips back to his while using his free hand to work on her bra as she made short work of his belt and zipper.

Shoving him back down to the floor with a grin she let her bra fall forward onto the floor, swiping their mingled blood from her lips with the back of her hand before shoving his pants and boxers down as far as possible considering he was still wearing his boots. Quirking an appreciate brow, she slid forward onto his stomach, unbuttoning her own fatigues and trying to shimmy out of them.

Feeling more like he was doing situps than having sex, Derek decided he - as well as his ass - were tired of the cold concrete floor, standing up and bringing Cole with him before setting her down on the work bench beside them, yanking her pants down and stepping up between her knees. Not wanting to waste any time in this temperature, he immediately set to work on her chest, earning an appreciative groan from deep in her throat.

Darla let out a low sound oddly resembling a cat's mewl while digging her fingers into the short hair atop his head and yanking him harder against him roughly, "Don't... make me... hurt you!"

Smirking slightly, Derek locked eyes with her before deciding to give her exactly what she wanted, yanking her panties to the side and slamming forward with a groan of his own, "Fuuuuck!"

Despite all her 'just one of the guys' bluster, Cole couldn't help herself as her eyes rolled back into her head. It had been more than a year since the last time anyone had touched her, and somehow she'd managed to forget just how good it felt, "Oh God... might have been wrong... about the balls!"

Derek couldn't help but smirk as he started a pretty quick rhythm, getting the distinct feeling that slow and gentle wasn't exactly Darla's speed. Not to mention the fact his pride was still stinging from a few of her comments - comments he figured he could erase with a strong enough performance. Reaching around and squeezing her ass harshly, he sought her mouth out with his own hungrily, ignoring the coppery taste both were forced to endure.

Before long Cole had regained her bearings, and was giving as good as she was getting, practically writhing on top of the bench while dragging the nails of both hands over his shoulders and down his back hard enough to draw blood. "That all you've got, Lieutenant?"

Letting out another growl as he increased his pace, Derek leaned down and trailed a string of bites along the top of her shoulder, leaving teeth marks all the way, snatching her hands from his back and slamming them into the wall beside her head.

Unable to do much else, Cole wrapped her legs around his waist like a vice, hips grinding away despite the difficulty of movement, head flung back until it smacked into the wall with a loud 'thunk', "Come on, Reese!"

Slamming into her with everything his broken body had left, he gripped her wrists tighter while burying his face into the crook of her neck, the only sounds coming from his lips unintelligible grunts of pleasure and pain.

Darla on the other hand had never been shy about letting others know what she was feeling, practically screaming when the blissful waves finally washed over her, her entire body arching up against Derek nearly hard enough to knock him backwards had her legs not been fastened around his midsection.

A few more thrusts and a long groan were all it took before Derek found his own release, panting and breathing heavily, barely registering her cries - hell, barely remembering his own name. After all, it had been a while for him too.

Letting her head fall back against the wall one last time, Darla could feel a lazy smile tugging her lips up while she tried to will her legs to return to some form of solid matter, "Not bad Reese. Not great... but not bad at all."

He couldn't hide his own smirk, not sure if he should take her words as compliment or insult, "You're not so bad yourself, Major. Not quite as... fridged, as I thought you'd be."

Shoving the older man back with a shit-eating grin, Cole was already starting to gather up her clothes, their previous fight seemingly forgotten in the afterglow, "Don't think this changes anything. You're still a dick, but... even a dick can be useful every once in a while."

"And you're still a bitch," Derek noted, openly staring at the Operator's body while pulling up his own pants, "But even a bitch can offer up a good lay every once in a while."

"Ha!" Slapping him on the side of one stubbled cheek, Cole shook her head while throwing on her jacket, smirking over her shoulder at him on the way up the ladder, "And if you bring your A-game, you might just get another chance."

With that she slipped back out into the morning light, leaving Derek with a bruised body, a battered ego, and a hell of a mess to clean up before anyone saw it.

Still, he found that it was all but impossible to wipe the grin from his face.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 16th, 2011  
1236hrs

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._

When they'd first started their relationship, John had known that Cameron was changing. He'd known she was growing, not only emotionally, but as a person... and he'd been so happy for her.

She was supposed to learn love, to learn what it meant to be more than just a protector. She was supposed to be happy.

But he'd managed to forget that emotions always cut both ways. The capacity to love tempered by the capacity to hate, contentment tempered by fear. And Cameronm, she had no context to put any of them in the proper light. She'd been relying on him for that purpose, to make sense of this new world opening up for her. And he'd let her down.

He made it a solemn vow that he would never fail her like that again.

John was so lost in his thoughts that he barely registered the feeling of Cameron shuffling her head around on his chest. Glancing down, he noticed her eyes shifting beneath her eyelids and her grip tightening on his t-shirt as she showed the first signs of consciousness in nearly twelve hours.

He couldn't help but smile, even though she appeared to be in the middle of a very real emotional breakdown, at just how adorable she looked in her sleep. Thinking about it, John decided it might nor be the best idea to rush her, and figured he'd let her wake up of her own accord. Running a gentle hand through her locks, he simply watched as she stirred from her slumber.

Cameron's eyes opened slowly, long lashes masking his view somewhat. Then she blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, almost as if she was trying to fathom what was going on, what was happening.

The first thing Cameron's CPU registered was the sight of her hand gripping at some fabric. Further examination told her she was holding on to John's shirt, lying in bed with him…but things weren't the same as she remembered what seemed to her just a few seconds earlier.

Shooting upright almost immediately, Cameron's eyes flitted quickly about the room. She looked nervous, bordering on stark panic, that was until her eyes landed on the man laying beneath her looking just about as worried as she felt. "John?"

Sitting up as much as his stiff muscles allowed, John tried his best to keep his voice low and soothing as he reached around to rub his wife's back in slow circles. "You're fine Cameron. How did you sleep?"

Glancing down, Cameron noticed her husband wasn't as he appeared the last time she'd seen him. His shirt had changed, his position had shifted and she was fairly certain that eleven hours and thirteen minutes were missing from her memory banks.

She'd slept, again, her defect had resurfacing with a vengeance. Not at all liking that fact, Cameron resolutely shook her head. "Don't ask me that. I don't like discussing it."

"Okay," John couldn't help but sound and feel a little hurt by her words and the way her commanding tone left no room for argument. However, he managed to keep up a reassuring smile for her, "When you're ready. Do you at least feel any better?"

Now that Cameron had took a moment to gather her thoughts, take in her surroundings, waking up properly it could have been described as, she looked thoughtful for a moment. The soothing hand on her back certainly helped in that regard too, "I feel…different."

"Different good, or different bad?" John asked as he leaned in closer and wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder, her sweet scent helping to calm him down too.

"Different…good…I think." Glancing behind her, Cameron noted the smile that brought to her husband's face, "You stayed with me all night?"

Did she sound…surprised? John wasn't sure, however he couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, mostly by way of apology, "I uh…had to use the head, and help Rachel find your old bedding. But other than that, yeah."

Cameron allowed herself a brief moment to examine her husband, and almost immediately regretted her actions and looked away, mostly through her growing sense of shame and regret. The bruises forming on his neck a stark reminder of her actions the previous night. "Why? Why did you stay with me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" John asked with a smile, nuzzling in to the side of her neck, "You stay with me when I sleep."

"You didn't just try to kill me…I did." Strangely enough, Cameron didn't try to shrug away from the contact despite the words she was saying dictating that would be a distinct possibility. In contrast, her voice remained calm and even, steady.

"Cameron, let's be honest…if you'd 'tried to kill me', I'd be dead right now." He pulled back and tried to get her to look at him, "You're still trying to learn how to control these new emotions, and the impulses that come with them. I'm as much to blame as you are for pushing you so hard…for not seeing what was happening to you in the first place."

Cameron looked away again, much to John's chagrin. At that moment in time, and at her current emotional state, Cameron found herself strangely calm and coherent, able to better see things for what they were, not clouded by her fledgling mood swings.

She could clearly remember and realize that John loved her, with all his heart, he did marry her after all. Husbands forgive their wives for their transgressions, and it seemed that John had forgiven her for her actions. She knew she'd done wrong, and the best she could hope for now was that the worst was over with…and yet, she still didn't feel quite right. Something was still wrong, something was different and she wasn't back to her usual self, but whatever it was, it didn't appear to be manifesting itself. "Thank you."

"Any time." Dropping a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth, John brushed an unusually disorderly clump of hair behind her ear gently, "I've set aside the whole day for us to spend some time together."

Nodding, Cameron glanced behind her again, "What would you like to do?"

"No." John shook his head resolutely, "Today isn't about me. Focusing on me and my 'responsibilities' is what put you in this position in the first place. Today we focus on you," he dropped a kiss on her cheek to punctuate his decision.

Cameron's brow quirked almost comically, a sense of intrigue tugging from some corner of her CPU, "How?"

"It's a time honored tradition for human men to spoil the hell out of their wives." John noted with a smile as he leaned in for a slow kiss, which to his delight she returned, although not as enthusiastically as he would've hoped. "I just want you to focus on relaxing and enjoying yourself."

"Relaxing?" She sounded skeptical to say the least. The concept wasn't exactly foreign to her, she just couldn't work out just what he might have planned for the day, after all, it wasn't like she could just go out and get a massage or anything.

John nodded quickly, catching the skeptical look on her face and trying his best to convince her, "I had a few ideas, if it's alright with you."

Cameron however remained unconvinced, "Shouldn't we focus more on our duties? We still have to…"

"It's being taken care of." He didn't bother to let her finish, this kind of thing had been their problem recently and he knew it. "I've already drawn up the plans, and I trust Derek and Cole to take care of the prep work. We need to get you back on your feet."

After a moment's contemplation, Cameron found herself slowly nodding, accepting that she wouldn't be able to sway him on this issue. She leaned over and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek as a sign of her acceptance, "What do you have in mind?"

"Breakfast?" He smiled at her acceptance, "I'll scrounge up whatever you want."

Quirking an eyebrow, Cameron couldn't help but smile at the offer, "I'll have whatever you prefer…so long as it's healthy."

John shook his head, trying so hard to fight off a chuckle, "You're missing the point. It's supposed to be about what _you_ prefer."

Cameron thought about it for a moment. She didn't particularly desire anything related to food, and it wasn't the appropriate time to be consuming the bag of double chocolate chip cookies stashed in the kitchen that nobody knew about. After a moment, she turned again and smiled, "Surprise me?"

"Sure thing." Dropping a quick kiss on her cheek, John disentangled himself and hustled off out of the room.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, he was glad to see Cameron had taken his advice to heart and seemed to be attempting to 'relax'. She'd propped up the pillows by the headboard and rested her back against them. In truth, she kinda looked awkward and stiff. Her perfectly straight back and neatly folded hands probably didn't help.

Sighing, he stepped forward with a tray in his hands. He'd managed to muster up a bowl of chopped fruit and a stack of slightly burned chocolate chip pancakes. Yes, he was still definitely his mother's son, and yet he couldn't hide the smirk as he noticed Cameron craning her neck to try and sneak a peek at what he'd prepared for her. "Sorry, kinda burned the pancakes," he said with an apologetic shrug.

He set the tray down on her lap and plucked the bowl of fruit off for himself as he settles in beside her, his back leaning against the headboard.

"Pancakes?" She asked, glancing over as he settled beside her, "Did Sarah assist you?"

"Are you kidding? I think these might actually be edible." He tried to laugh it off, but it just came off as stiff. Even to Cameron it was pretty obvious he wasn't comfortable discussing his mother, who still hadn't said a word to him in weeks.

Cameron looked over at her husband when he turned silent. After a moment, she slid the tray over so that it was between them. "You first," she offered.

John was on the verge of arguing, but his stomach starting to growl reminded him of just how hungry he was, his killer hangover not helping in that regard either. But he forced himself to slide the tray back over to her with a smile. Picking the bowl of fruit up, he popped a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth, "Pancakes are yours, I'm trying this…'healthy' thing you keep pushing."

With a small tug of a smile, Cameron nodded and picked up her fork. With a sense of enthusiasm she'd never felt before when it came to eating, she dug in to her pancakes almost hungrily. It wasn't exactly ice cream, but it was prepared for her specifically by John, in her eyes that added to it's value far more than anything else could.

When she'd finished her first pancake, she glanced over at the aforementioned chef. "Is Rachel alright? Did she stay here last night?"

"She was still asleep on the couch when I went down to make your breakfast." He couldn't help but smile, the soldier who he barely knew a few weeks back really starting to grow on him, her dedication to Cameron something to admire. She almost resembled a guard dog with the way she'd set up camp in the living room.

"She saw me…sleeping?" Cameron sounded truly nervous, despite the fact that Rachel was in fact the first to know about her defect. It worried her to think of anybody but John knowing that particular weakness.

"She thought you were adorable." John didn't seem to notice Cameron's reluctance. Leaning back against the headboard and tossing back another piece of fruit, he had a feeling he might be able to get used to this health food thing. "Lorne really cares about you, Cam. You choose your friends well."

Cameron remained quiet, not really trusting herself to say anything more as she started on her second pancake. After finishing that off, she set her now empty tray off to the side and turned to her husband, "Now what?"

"Well, I know it might be difficult for you to relax the way we do." He stood up off the bed and offered his hand to her, "But I had an idea that might work if you're interested."

Cameron paused while she considered it, and after a few moments where it looked like John was about to withdraw his hand, she reached out to take hold of it and stood. She shifted her gaze up to his eyes, almost expectantly.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders with a smile, John steered her towards the bathroom. Leaving her by the counter, he hurried around the room making his preparations. Starting by turning on the tap on the bath, he added a few slurps of bubble bath he'd snagged from Sarah's bathroom into the pooling water. Even going so far as to light a few candles they kept dotted around the room in case the power went out. Eventually he turned back to face a clearly confused Cameron, "Why don't you get undressed?"

Cameron had been watching him mill about the room, idly wondering the whole time if he'd forgotten that she wasn't human. Either that or the pressure of the entire situation had caused him to lose his mind. His question however pretty much ruled out that possibility - he was _definitely_ still her John.

Whipping the shirt off over her head, shorts quickly following suit, Cameron stepped closer, awaiting her next instruction.

John took her hand with a smile while trying to ignore the natural effect her nakedness had on his nineteen year old body. He led her over to the bath and turned off the water, "Hop in."

She eyed him skeptically, taking a moment to perform a quick scan of the bathtub's structural integrity to make sure it could hold her weight. Satisfied it could, she complied with his wish and stepped into the tub, holding his hand the entire way as she gingerly lowered herself down in to the water, the tub creaking with every movement.

When she'd finally lowered herself all the way she released his hand, the curious sensation of being surrounded with water up to her belly taking over any doubts she might have had about the tub. Slowly swishing her hands out to her sides under the water, Cameron revelled in the alien sensations caused by the rush of the water through her outstretched fingers.

The feeling of the water made her think back to her honeymoon, about her first ever encounter with a swimming pool. The rush of the water as she'd jumped in, followed by the feeling of it flowing past her as she moved, albeit totally submerged.

As she recalled the memories of her honeymoon, particularly the experiences of consummating her marriage to John, she felt the curious and rather unsettling sensations that usually preceded her equivalent of sexual arousal. The feeling of the water combined with the memory seemed to be causing an emotional reaction within her. Yet another seeming development as a result of her ever changing emotional state.

Grabbing the sponge off the side of the tub, John dipped it in to the warm water while just enjoying watching Cameron experiment with the new sensations of the water. "Lean forward."

She did as he asked and leaned forward slightly, keeping her eyes on his hands as best she could while keeping up the movements of her own hands beneath the surface of the water.

John squeezed the sponge out over her shoulders before rubbing in slow circles between her shoulder blades, then gently grazing down over her spine, not wanting to risk ruining the relaxing atmosphere he'd created with any added pressure. "How does this feel?"

"The heat is…pleasant." She couldn't help but wish it was his hands running down her spine and not the sponge, but he seemed intent on helping her relax and didn't seem to be intentionally trying to arouse her, at least not yet anyway.

Running the sponge over her skin a few more times, John placed his hands on her shoulders and started gently pulling her backwards, smiling as her eyes remained locked on his the whole way back. Eventually her back came into contact with the tub and he carefully coaxed her head to rest on the edge of the bath. "Close your eyes."

Cameron once again complied with his wishes and closed her eyes. Deciding that she could use this opportunity to gather some new sensory data, she brought her external sensors up to 100%, just like she'd done a long time ago when observing the training exercise in the barracks. That time she'd been overwhelmed and bombarded by all the different sights, smells and feelings surrounding her.

This time was no exception. She could feel the heat of the water permeating her skin, the subtle currents of the liquid medium surrounding her with each tiny movement she made. But most of all she found herself picking up on the scent of a nearby John. Her nostrils flared involuntarily as she picked up on that scent she'd come to love so much, the feel of his warm hands on her shoulders only increasing her enjoyment of the moment.

Her sudden development of reliance on scent had come as much of a surprise to her as it had to John. She was a Terminator, a killer, a hunter. It was only logical for Skynet to include every advantage it could to make her the perfect killing machine, senses like those of animals and humans, combined with her tracking and sensory input would make her devastating in a hunt.

However it wasn't relying on her highly advanced CPU to start to use the ability to it's own ends. It had started to link certain scents and smells with emotional responses. A feeling of calm and contentment washed over her whenever she was in John's proximity. Pheromones of a rival females caused jealousy, irrational anger, and her body reacted accordingly.

John's scent had the dual effect of causing stimulation of another kind, however as she'd discovered during her initial experimentation with exploring this new development, it seemed to depend on her mood and her surroundings which way she swung in regards to his scent. At the moment it had the calming effect John seemed to be desiring.

She was forced to consider that John had indeed been right. Perhaps this could be considered as some form of relaxation, so long as he was there with her, she saw no reason not to attempt this activity again.

Seeing the small smile forming on his wife's face, John decided he was in fact on the right track after all. Squeezing the sponge out a few times over her hair, John poured some of her shampoo into his hand and set to work massaging it in to her scalp with his fingertips.

Detecting the new aroma of her shampoo, Cameron found herself giving in to the feeling of contentment flooding her systems even more. That coupled with the sensation of his fingers working on her scalp sent her head lolling off to the side as she lost herself to the feeling. There was nothing else, just the sensations John was causing, the smells in the room. No mission, no directives, no worries or concerns, only calmness, quiet, no more chaos.

The next thing she knew, John was gently shaking her shoulder. All the shampoo was rinsed out of her hair and John had ceased the movement of his fingers. "Cameron? You there?"

She opened her eyes to find an upside down John staring worriedly down at her, "Why have you stopped?"

"Um…I didn't." John couldn't help but look a little sheepish, running a few fingers through her slick and totally clean hair, "You drifted off."

Cameron glanced down at the water, his statement causing confusion, "I haven't moved."

John smirked, even though his wife was clearly going through some changes, some good, some bad, at the end of the day, she was still his Cameron. "I mean you fell asleep while I was shampooing your hair. I guess you were more tired than I realized."

Cameron vehemently shook her head, spraying droplets of water over John's hands and her shoulders, "You must be mistaken." She sounded genuinely upset, her voice cracking a little, such was her dislike of the whole sleep situation, "I only…slept, an hour ago."

"Trust me Cameron, you were out like a light." John stepped back from the tub with a gentle smile, reaching out, he grabbed a big, fluffy towel off the nearby rack, "You should probably get out of there, that water has got to be getting cold."

Performing a quick scan of the surrounding water, Cameron did indeed confirm that it had dropped in temperature by a few degrees, more than it should've dropped in such a short space of time. She reluctantly checked her internal chronometer, and as had happened earlier, there was a chunk of time missing from her recollection, in fact, almost fifteen minutes had passed since the last time she was conscious. She couldn't fight the frown from appearing on her face, John was right, she'd slept again. Her frown remained in place as she slowly stood and gingerly stepped out of the tub.

John wrapped the towel around his wife, making sure to gently rub across her body to take care of the majority of the moisture, "So, what do you think? Better?"

Cameron managed to snap herself back to the present and cleared the frown off her face upon hearing the voice of her lover. "It was…interesting," sporting a curious expression, she brought her hand up in front of her face, tilting her head as she examined her now wrinkled fingertips. "It may be something to explore further."

"Feeling up to a little more down time?" After tucking the towel in around her, John grabbed a smaller one off the rail and set to work on drying her hair for her, Cameron watching his every movement with a ghost of a smile. "I think Rachel wanted to spend some time with you today, if you feel up to it that is."

Cameron felt her smile stretching further across her face at the loving attention she was receiving from her husband. She had a sneaking suspicion that she could very easily get used to all the pampering he was lavishing on her, "Will you still be around?"

"I'll be right up here." He leaned forward and kissed her gently, finally allowing himself a little leeway now that she was at least covered up, "I have some paperwork to take care of, then I think I'll squeeze in a workout."

Before John's eyes, the sweet girl he met years ago in a New Mexico schoolroom returned in the form of a bright, 'my dad sells tractors' smile, her enthusiasm infectious to him. "Another date night?"

The childlike excitement he was certain he heard in her voice gave John a little shiver through his body as he tugged her in close and wrapped his arms around her and smiled. "Is that what you want?"

She nodded by way of reply, still smiling enthusiastically, the previous day's event all but forgotten in her current mood.

"Why don't you go get dressed and spend some time with your friend?" John asked as he stepped back and begun toweling off his hands and rolling his sleeves back down. "We'll meet up for lunch in a few hours, then we'll watch a movie together and…'relax' tonight."

"Okay," Cameron replied before she stood on her tip toes and dropped a kiss on his cheek, then much to John's delight, she shifted over and treated him to a soft, slow kiss on his lips, sending familiar tingles rushing to a much different place then a moment ago. "Thank you for being patient with me."

Nodding slowly, John rested his forehead against hers for a long moment as he smiled, "From now on, Cameron, I promise I always will be."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note: Sorry for the super long length between updates folks. Real life has been a trip lately, and it's been tough finding time to work on this. Rest assured I still intend to finish it and move on to book two, but it might take a little more time between updates for the moment. Thanks for being patient, and as always a huge thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave a review - you guys really make the effort worth it.

Thank you to Bigbew, without whom this chapter likely would have taken another month to get out. You're the best bro! In case you haven't seen it yet, I'd advise everyone to check out his latest installment in the 'I wouldn't Be Worth Much if I Couldn't Feel' series - 'Faith Isn't Part of my Programming' which is utterly awesome.


	31. Chapter 31

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 31/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 02/20/11  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language

Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 31 - 'Gearing Up'

* * *

Robert Gray Army Airfield  
Fort Hood  
Killeen, Texas  
March 16th, 2011  
1300 hrs

The sun was deceptively bright as Captain Jonathan Richards hopped out of the battered UH-60 he'd called home for the last hour, every kink in his back screaming in protest at the weight of the overstuffed duffel tossed haphazardly over his left shoulder while trying to dig a battered pair of Oakley's from a cargo pocket. Though just past noon, in what he'd been assured was one of the warmest places in the United States, the temperature must have been hovering in the single digits Celsius, forcing the thirty-two year old Captain to shrug a little deeper into his uniform jacket as the wind whipped up by the bird's still-churning rotors tried to force it's way into every available hole.

"Just once," His attention was derailed by the lilting voice of his XO, Second Lieutenant Matilda James as she jogged up beside him, their height difference meaning she didn't have to duck low to avoid the blades just inches above Richards' head, "I'd like to land somewhere to find a beach with a bar on it. You know, the kind with drinks that have those little brollies in them?"

Hiking his pack higher onto his shoulder, Jon nodded absently while trying to suppress a snort, "Yanks always seem to pick the nastiest places under the sun to house their soldiers. Probably hope it'll keep 'em nice and surly until the killing starts."

"Florida was nice," Tilly shook her head while thrusting her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, "Pity we couldn't stay for a while. I hear their beaches make Spain look like Blackpool in winter."

Her commanding officer actually did snort at that one, "With skin like yours, you're lucky we didn't. Besides, I was too busy stretching my legs to notice the scenery. You'd think the Yanks could have sprung for something a bit posher than cramming us into a C130 between a Humvee and a stack of bloody field toilets on a long-haul flight."

James couldn't help but roll her eyes, "Letting your new assignment go to your head already, I see."

"You're joking, right?" Catching sight of an aged Jeep at the edge of the tarmac where a flustered Corporal was trying to flag them down, Richards set off for his new destination at a leisurely pace, "Fourteen years I've served Queen and country, with little more than three ex-wives and a limp to show for it, and on the eve of my first real holiday in three bloody years, they decide to send me packing to the Colonies for some half-arsed joint exercise. Is it so much to ask that I at least not have to ride with the bogs?"

"Aw, come on," Slamming her shoulder into her much-taller boss's side, Tilly shook her head, ponytail bobbing out behind her, "Admit it Jon - seeing me again makes it all worthwhile!"

Tossing his bag off into the startled Corporal's hands so quickly the the kid nearly dropped it, Richards didn't wait for his instructions before jumping the door into the back seat of the Jeep and leaning back with an exaggerated sigh, "Wouldn't have invited you otherwise, Lieutenant. If I'm destined to be bored, literally to death, I'm taking you down with me."

Pausing just long enough to run an appraising eye over the now clearly uncomfortable American soldier before her, James tossed her bag into the passenger seat before joining her CO in the back, "Which does beg the question, how _did_ you land this choice assignment? Get caught shagging the Colonel's daughter?"

"Oi, that was _one_ time!" Bouncing his boot idly across the floorboards, the older man tried to contain the excess energy only sixteen hours of flight time can instill in you, "And I promise, it's nowhere near that colorful. Fought with the bloke in charge of the operation here, apparently he requested me personally."

Reaching over and slapping a hand down on her superior's knee to stop the annoying habit that happened to infuriate her, Tilly nodded, "So, what can ya tell me about him?"

"Perry?" Shoving the woman's hand off his knee with a smirk, he made a conscious effort to keep his leg still, "Not much. He and his Rangers were sent in to pull us out when an F3 mission went bad during Operation Moshtarak. Their Chinook was brought down by RPG fire, we ended up having to rescue the rescuers."

James rolled her eyes pointedly, "So you save some bloke's life and he pays you back by giving you a shite assignment that cancels your holiday? Great friend."

"The bloke's not that bad," Richards shook his head tiredly, admiring the scenery or lack thereof, "His people couldn't tell their arse from their elbow though, useless wankers."

Smirking behind her sunglasses, Tilly leaned over conspiratorially, "Soooo... is he cute?"

Jon rolled his head over to look in her direction with a smirk, eyeing the odd sparkly hair clips decorating her thick dark hair, "He has a face that'd give kids nightmares. Honestly, the films this guy could get in, unbelievable."

"Oh, bugger!" Sticking her bottom lip out in what she considered to be a pretty adorable pout, Matilda shook her head, "If I'm gonna be stuck here, some recreation would come in handy."

"Recreation?" Jon rolled his head the other way, trying to fight off the urge to frown, "Jesus Tilly, when will you learn that men aren't playthings? That's what your dollies were for when you were a little girl."

"But they're so much fun!" Springing forward between the front seats, she tilted her head, bobbing up just inches from the side of the poor driver's cheek with a full grin, "I bet you know how to show a girl a smashing time, don't you?"

Shaking his head an openly smirking, Richards reached out and gave her backside a firm swat, "Oi! Leave the poor boy alone, all clean cut and innocent no doubt. You'll scare the life out of him."

Returning to her seat, as well as her pout, Tilly folded her arms over her chest rather petulantly, "You never let me have any fun!"

Ignoring her comment, he leaned forward in his seat a little, "Sorry about that mate, she's uh...highly strung!"

Coughing uncomfortably, the Corporal, who appeared to be less than a year out of boot, spared a glance up into the mirror, "Not a problem, sir. We should reach your quarters in ten, sir."

"And just how far would that be from your billet, Corporal?" The Lieutenant's grin was bordering on the evil.

Jon gave her arm another swat, trying to get her to quit it, no matter how funny it may have been, trying so hard as he was to fight off a smirk.

The Corporal meanwhile turned about four different shades of red, trying his very best to focus on the road ahead, "Far side of the compound ma'am."

"I never get a lucky break." Pivoting in her seat, Tilly skewered her CO with her impression of a glare, which tended to be about as intimidating as an angry kitten, "You promised me fun. There'd better be killing, Jon."

"Oh don't worry Tilly," His smile was downright devious as he looked over, peeking out from above his sunglasses, "I'm pretty sure pretty young boys like him will be the last of your worries. Perry isn't exactly the 'ask questions then shoot' type."

"I like him already." All 'anger' forgotten in the space of a second, she could barely contain her glee at a chance to get in some action, "Any idea where we're going? It's Pakistan, isn't it? Ooohhh, or Georgia? I bet it's Georgia!"

"What is it with you and Georgia?" Looking over with a beaming smile as he scratched at his stubble, Jon glanced at the back of the Corporal's head quickly, "What was that blokes name again? The one that decided his face would look better smashed in to the wall when he started giving it welly over your dress. I've never seen you looking so pissed off before."

"It was a nice enough place... before the Russians flattened it." Eying her friend pointedly, her tone was anything but playful, "And I was rather enjoying the attention before you decided to go all caveman."

"He said you looked like a two dollar hooker squeezed in to a tiny dress," Jon shook his head, his face scrunching up at the thought of what else he was supposed to do in that situation, "What, was I supposed to buy him a pint?"

Tilly shook her head, barely fighting off the urge to thump her overprotective 'older brother' upside the head, "Tell him to sod off? If I had, the rest of them wouldn't have avoided me like the plague for the rest of the bloody trip!"

"Good," Jon leaned closer and leveled a firm thump on her thigh, "Now sit down, shut up," He leaned closer, his face only inches from hers, his voice kept low, "And learn from your bloody mistakes!"

Leaning back in her seat with a sigh, the Lieutenant grumbled under her breath, "What is it with you and trying to screen potential boyfriends?"

Jon shrugged and leaned back in his seat, pushing his sunglasses higher up his nose, "Maybe I just want you all to myself, you being the charming girl you are."

Unable to stay mad at her friend for more than a few seconds at a time, Tilly let out a tinkling laugh as they pulled up in front of the barracks they'd apparently be residing in for the moment, "Now, you know I like my men to have hair."

"Oi!" Richards yelled hopping down out of the vehicle and glaring at her from the other side, running a hand over his close shaved head self consciously. "At least I'm not the one who thought I'd look better with my hair dyed bright red. I mean come on, what was all that about, since when do you follow the same trends that fifteen year old girls do?"

Snagging her own duffle with a smirk, James ran a hand over her curls, "Admit it, Jon. You thought it was sexy!"

"Um... sir!" Not really wanting to step in the middle of an argument not only between two senior officers, but two apparently volatile people, the Corporal in the driver's seat held up a hand, "Once you've stowed your gear, I've been instructed to take you directly to Captain Perry's office."

"Here!" Jon tossed his duffel over the truck to Tilly and watched her catch it and stagger back with a smirk, "Put that away for me honey, try not to lose my skiddies, I'll need those!" His grin was downright sickly as he hopped up into the passenger seat beside the Corporal.

"You..." Unable to entirely hide her smile, she hobbled back towards the door, "Fine! But I'm taking the twenty quid you owe me for the Spurs match!"

Pulling away from the curb, the Corporal forced a shaky smile, at least feeling reasonably comfortable in the presence of the older man seated beside him, "The Rangers are being housed in temporary facilities on loan from the 3rd Armored, sir. It's just down the road."

"Uh huh," Jon said, drawing it out like it was a question, unsure as to why the still red Corporal was even telling him that.

"We've been shuttling special equipment in from the airfield for the last three days," Quirking a brow but carefully trying to keep from looking overeager, the young man turned the corner, "It's not often we get Spec Ops boys out here. Something pretty big must be going down."

"Uh huh," This time he nodded in understanding, looking around and noticing an unusual amount of activity. Something apparently was going down, "When did all this stuff start happening?

"Just this week, sir." Corporal Sykes could barely fight off a smile. If he managed to actually get some info on this OP, he could settle a lot of betting pools, "The Rangers have been pulling in stuff from all over the country for some black op. All we know is that the cargo slips are slated for Fort Carson, Colorado."

"The mountains?" Richards turned away, facing forward, getting a far away look as he considered the possibilities, "So not Georgia then. Tilly will be gutted."

"The 10th Special Forces Group operates out of Fort Carson, sir." Sykes added, figuring the Brit might not be up to date with American unit postings, "But the Rangers seem to think that's their final destination, not some kind of stop-off."

"Why's that?"

"If they were going to ship their equipment out of country, they'd send it from here, sir. Our facility is one of the largest in the world." The Corporal looked exceedingly proud of that fact, "But they're bringing the big guns, and their birds, up to Pueblo."

"Any ideas why Colorado?" Jon looked over, frowning at the enthusiastic grin on the young man's face. Bloody Yanks never did know when to relax a little.

"Well, sir, the Piñon Canyon Maneuver Site is up there." The man shrugged, reaching pretty much the limit of his knowledge, "But they sure don't seem to be packing for no training exercise."

"Funny," Jon scoffed, "Apparently that's what I've come here for, some random training thing, teaching you lot how to do your job a little better."

"Yes, sir." Pulling up in front of a nondescript building on the corner of the street, the Corporal motioned towards the door, "Captain Perry is inside, sir. And... sir?"

"Yeah?" He asked, hopping down out of the truck and swinging around by his hand on the frame.

"The Lieutenant..." The young kid appeared to be genuinely worried about his wellbeing, "She was joking... right, sir?"

"Not totally." With a smirk that would've put the shits up even the most hardened veteran, Richards pushed the door open to the building and stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the light.

Two Rangers, surprisingly enough in full battle dress, snapped up to attention in front of him in the small space between the outside door and the inner hallway. The larger of the two, a Sergeant who looked like he belonged in the NFL, eyed the Brit in front of him carefully, "I.D. please, Captain."

Barely suppressing an eye roll, Jon reached down and lifted the card around his neck to show the Sergeant, "There, good enough?"

Nodding to his partner, the Sergeant stayed firmly planted in front of the Brit while the other man pulled out a small wand, "If you'd roll up your sleeve, sir."

"Why?" He asked, letting the card dangle from the strap around his neck again.

"New security procedures, Captain." Though the rest of his body stayed menacingly still, the larger man's hand drifted just a fraction closer to his sidearm, "Please, roll up your sleeve."

Lips quirking to the side just a little a little, Jon released a slow and steady breath. With a small shake of his head, he lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve before staring at the guard impatiently.

After receiving a nod from his Sergeant, the PFC beside him stepped forward, reciting his words as if they'd been printed on a card for him, "Do you have any prosthetics, pins, spent rounds, or shrapnel in this limb, sir?"

Narrowing his eyes just a fraction, Jon remained stock still and let out a low growl, "No."

"Thank you, sir." Lifting the Captain's arm so that it was extended in front of him, the PFC ran the metal detector up and down the length of his exposed forearm a few times before stepping back with a nod, "All clear, sir."

Without another word, the Sergeant snapped off a salute and stepped aside, "Captain Perry is waiting for you, sir. Third door on your right."

Carefully folding his sleeve back down, he stepped through the door, glaring at the guard the entire way. Once on the other side, her let out the breath he'd been holding, "What the hell?"

Shaking his head, he set off down the hall until he reached the third door on the right and gave it a quick rap with his knuckles.

"Come." Folding up a stack of papers sent to him by the enigmatic Mrs. Weaver, Captain Perry shoved them into a desk drawer before leaning back with the closest thing to a smile he wore these days.

"What, not even a 'come in'?" Jon mumbled under his breath as he twisted the handle and stepped inside. The sight of Perry the most pleasant thing he'd seen since Tilly left his side, "Sir,"

"Richards!" Standing up and extending a meaty hand towards the Brit, Perry shook his head, "How was your flight in?"

"Quiet," Jon smirked as he took hold of Perry's hand with a firm grip, thinking back to a rather dull game of I spy with Tilly in a room full of toilets.

"I appreciate you coming on such short notice, I hope it wasn't an inconvenience." Settling back into his chair, Justin motioned to a faded yellow couch shoved up against the far wall that looked like it had been sitting there since the Johnson administration.

Flopping unceremoniously on to the couch, Richards eyed the man across the room warily. As much as he was familiar with Perry, something quite frankly stunk about this assignment, and he didn't want to hang around in finding out what it was. "Well it was a little bit. Why did I lose my holidays Captain?"

"I promise, Jon," Reaching into his desk to grab what appeared to be a CD case, Perry tapped it on his desk a few times, "When you hear what I have to tell you, you'll know it was worth it."

"I hope so," Jon smirked, "I haven't had a day off in bloody ages."

"And I'm afraid none of us will for quite some time, Captain." The older man shook his head wearily, "Who did you choose for the assignment?"

"Lieutenant Matilda James," Jon answered with a nod, "She's good sir, a little annoying maybe."

Perry nodded, "And she meets the requirements?"

"Yeah, those things." Releasing a sigh he'd been brewing for the past few minutes, Jon leveled his stony gaze across the room, "What were those all about? I mean, it's obviously not something good now is it?"

Leaning forward and resting his forearms on his desk, Perry shrugged, "I'm not sure I understand."

"No family, no commitments." Jon looked at the Captain like he was ever so slightly slow, "That tells me that this thing has the distinct possibility of being a one way trip...am I right?"

"On the contrary, Jon." The man sitting across the desk from him looked infinitely tired, like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, "It's going to be a one way trip, but we're going to be the ones that survive."

Rubbing a tired hand across his face, eyes screwed shut, Jon felt a distinct headache coming on, and not just from the heat. "Either you've lost your mind, or I'm missing something, because either way, you're making about as much sense as the fucking Prime Minister."

"In that case, I'll make it simple." Rising to his feet, Justin walked over to the window, pulling the blinds down with his fingertips and glancing out over the quad, "You saved my life in Afghanistan, I'm returning the favor."

"Still not helping." Richards said, fingertips resting on his forehead, eyes still closed.

"I've been provided with... operational intel, which I will give you a copy of before you leave this room." Perry motioned to the disk resting on his desktop, "There should be more than enough there to prove what I'm saying is true, as well as explain the reasons for our new security measures."

"We're about to embark on an entirely new form of warfare Captain, and our new..." The word seemed to leave a distinct distaste in the other man's mouth, "Leader, needs seasoned vets like us to train the next generation."

"Is this sanctioned...by anybody?" He asked, cracking his eyes open just a little to look questioningly at Perry. This thing was just getting stranger by the second, and he had the feeling somebody was about to burst through the door and make sure he didn't repeat what he was being told.

"Only those who brought this information to me in the first place." Walking back over to his desk, he pulled the file he'd originally been given on the Connors from the US government and tossed it into Richards' lap, "Have a look for yourself."

Flicking through the file, but not before giving the man a glare, Jon shook his head when all he saw was a file about some crazy woman and her son. Something about machines stuck out as odd, proclamations of the end of the world, but beyond that it just seemed like a normal intelligence file. "What am I reading here?"

"The truth, Jon. As crazy as it sounds." Slipping back into his chair, Perry tried to get across just how serious he was through a glare of his own, "Every word of it."

Slapping the file closed, Jon tossed it off to the side on the couch and stood up, "Apparently you've lost your mind." Shaking his head, he started for the door, intent on grabbing Tilly and getting the hell out of there while they still had the chance.

"In just over two weeks, a government defense system code-named SKYNET is going to be handed the keys to every lock in the NATO arsenal." Ignoring the man's outburst, Justin leaned back in his chair, "And in one day it's going to halve the population of this planet, Jon."

"Yeah, and I'm fucking Angelina Jolie on the side," Jon scoffed as he reached for the door handle.

"Do you think this was easy for me to accept?" Slamming a palm down onto the desk, Perry snatched up the disk that had just skipped three inches to the side and stalked over to the TV setup on the corner, "Get your ass over here."

Hand two thirds of the way to the handle, Jon paused, letting out a breath of air through his nostrils. Weighing up the options, and his respect for Perry, he slowly turned around, "Two minutes, then I'm gone."

Ignoring the man's words, Justin popped the DVD into the player and switched the screen on with a humorless smirk, the picture immediately dissolving to reveal a small boardroom with himself sitting at the far end of a table, members of the Connor family scattered around the rest of it, "I take it you recognize these people."

"The woman and her son from the files," Jon leaned closer, squinting just a little, "And the girl from the pictures…she's cute."

"She's Connor's woman," Perry shook his head, "And she's no girl. Take a seat, the show is about to start."

Tearing his eyes away from the screen for a moment, Jon slowly took a seat, not at all liking the grin on Perry's face. It was downright creepy for a guy who rarely ever smiled.

The Captain paused long enough to thumb up the volume on the set, just as John Connor motioned to the petite girl seated beside him, "Show him, Cameron."

Tilting her head slightly to the side, the young woman nodded once before standing and picking up the steel-backed chair she'd been sitting on, not pausing in the slightest before twisting the top half until it touched the legs.

"Okaaay," Jon responded with a frown, "The girl's strong, so what?"

"Wait for it..."

Tossing the chair off into the corner with an awful clatter, 'Cameron' removed her sunglasses, seemingly pleased when her eyes flared with a bluish glow, sending the normally unflappable Perry scrambling backwards in his seat.

Straining his eyes to try and see better, Jon couldn't quite understand what he was seeing. Perry was obviously scared, or at least startled, and it was an odd sight indeed for the girls eyes to be...glowing, like that, "What is that?"

"THAT is the kid's girlfriend." Perry couldn't help but find that thought oddly amusing, "A fucking cyborg, Jon. Skin over metal, get me?"

"You're fucking with me," Though he was trying to sound sure of himself, Richards was starting to waver internally. "You expect me to believe that she," He waved a hand at the TV, "Is a machine? Come on."

"Fine," Perry shrugged, "Then believe this."

For the next five minutes, Richards was treated to a front row seat while Weaver performed various and sundry 'tricks' in full view of the camera. Perry looking progressively more freaked out on the tape as time goes by, finally, the screen went black.

Slouching back into his seat, Jon released a long breath, looking paler by the second. "What, the fuck, was that?"

"That is what we're going to be up against, Richards." Justin returned to his seat, snagging a coke from his mini-fridge and tossing it to the Captain with a sympathetic smile, "And that... kid, is our only hope."

Jon shook his head in shock and disbelief, barely registering what Perry was saying, "The kid?"

"He's big shit, Jon. All that stuff in the file about time travel, machines trying to kill him, it's true. Skynet knows he's the best chance we have. It trying to kill him is reason enough to save him."

"You believe all of this bollocks?" Richards snorted, "Come on Justin, it can't be real! Someone's havin' a laugh."

"That may have been on video for you, but it was right in front of my face." Perry assured him, "I can promise you it was very real. And in two weeks, the missiles will launch, the world will burn, and I'm offering you a chance to have a safe place to ride out the storm."

"Why?" Richards sank back on the seat, feeling spent and still in disbelief.

"Why what?"

Jon clarified, "Why me?"

Perry shrugged, the closest thing he ever sported to a grin spreading across his face. "Remember what I told you in Afghanistan? I always repay my debts."

"So what, I save you from a crazy bloke with an assault rifle and you're gonna save me from 'the end of the world'?" Jon snorted, "Hardly seems fair, does it?"

Perry smirked, "I didn't say you wouldn't owe me. Look, it's a good deal. You get to keep your life, save one of your best and brightest, and help lead humanity in the biggest war in history."

"Against these...things?" The younger man looked up, still not convinced, but based on how serious Perry seemed to be, he was really starting to waver.

"A war against machines, Jon." It showed just how much his friend knew him that he figured out exactly where to attack, "Flesh against metal. You always said you wanted a challenge."

"Yeah," Jon scoffed, "I meant a bloke who could beat me in the boxing ring, not a war against toasters."

Nodding along, Perry smiled. "So, you willing to do what's necessary? To sign on with Connor and his... Resistance?"

After taking longer to think it over than Perry thought he would, Richards ran a hand over his shaven head and glanced up, "Look, I'll go to Colorado, or wherever, but me and Tilly will still take more convincing than a video and your word."

Justin sighed, "You'll have to ask nicely. Connor's girlfriend is... touchy. And offending her is the fastest way I've seen to fall onto the kid's shit list."

The soldier's eyes bugged out a bit, "And the bloke sleeps with...her?"

"You saw the pictures, Jon. They've apparently been together for years. She's his bodyguard, and yeah... more."

Richards shook his head, "I'd rather sleep with my ex wife than, whatever she is."

"Yeah? Which one?" Smirking, Perry got to his feet, "The disc is yours to take, Jon. I just need to know one thing. This girl you brought with you... you trust her?"

Despite feeling like he'd been kicked in the gut a few times, the Captain looked ready for a fight, glaring daggers at anybody even remotely threatening Tilly, "Completely."

"Then prepare her for the worst. In two weeks, we go to war."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 16th, 2011  
1452hrs

John stepped out of the barracks with a spring in his step, one hand idly picking a chunk of venison from his teeth while the other fiddled with the MP3 player in his sweatshirt pocket, deciding to take a slight detour before his afternoon run.

Cole hadn't even made him trade for his lunch, which hadn't really surprised him, but the Operator had apparently been making a killing in goods and services since his decision to declare the house off-limits. The woods surrounding their house were full of game, and the woman was a dead-eye.

The rabbit stew hadn't been bad, but John the deer was probably the best thing he'd tasted in weeks - not that he'd ever tell Cameron that.

Nor would he tell her about what else he'd picked up on his trip to the barracks that morning.

Once he was a fair distance away from both the barracks and the house, John leaned back against one of the larger trees and dug into his pocket for the pack of smokes he'd picked up from Coons while shoving the earbuds for his player into place with his other hand, music erupting a second later at what most people would describe as an absolutely eardrum-shattering volume.

"I'm a cold heartbreaker

Fit ta burn and I'll rip

your heart in two

An I'll leave you lyin' on the bed"

Flicking his wrist a few times in a now-practiced motion, he snagged a cigarette from the pack and brought it to his lips, using a battered zippo to light it before enjoying a long, shuddering exhale.

Sure he felt guilty. What husband sneaking a smoke behind his wife's back wouldn't? But considering everything he'd been going through, and the end of the world being around the corner, John thought he'd been doing pretty damn well up to this point.

Bringing the cigarette back up to his lips, he mumbled along with the music, drumming his fingertips idly on the bark of the tree at his back,

"Collect another memory

When I come home late at night

Don't ask me where I've been

Just count your stars I'm home again"

"JOHN!"

Sarah yelled right in John's ear, sending him diving to the side, stumbling over a branch and almost falling flat onto his face in the process. Unable to entirely suppress a smirk, she merely looked on with a tilt of her head while he gathered his wits.

"Fuck!" Yanking his earbuds out with a withering glare, her son pivoted around while trying not to choke on the smoke still lodged down in his lungs, "What the hell?"

"Sneaking a smoke?" Sarah tutted, wagging her finger the way a 'real' mom probably did all the time, "Naughty boy!"

Resuming his spot against the tree, John switched off his MP3 player with a smirk of his own, taking a long drag off his much-needed release, "It's my first one in three weeks."

"Wow, I'm impressed. I couldn't even get you to give up for a week," Sarah reached over and plucked a cig out of his pack, popping it between her lips and waiting for him to light it, "The Tin Miss really is scary huh?"

"My wife? She doesn't have to be scary anymore, she just does the 'disappointed' thing and whips out the punishment." Snagging his lighter from his pocket, he gave his mother a disapproving look, but hell, it wasn't like he had room to talk.

"You never responded well when I tried to punish you," Pausing a moment to light the cigarette, Sarah popped it out of her mouth after taking a long drag, not entirely fighting off a shiver of contentment, "Or when I did the disappointed thing."

Slipping his lighter back into the pocket of his sweatshirt, John shrugged, "Different kinds of punishment."

"Ewww," Sarah remarked off handedly, leaning back against the tree beside her son, "Too much information."

"I thought you quit?" Deciding to change the subject to something slightly more neutral, or to at least switch the focus to his mother instead of himself, John smiled.

"Same to you." Sarah replied glancing over, "I quit because I didn't want to be in the habit of using something that isn't going to be around much longer. What's your excuse?"

"It's not like they go bad," John took a long drag, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, "Cole says they're used as currency in the future."

Sarah scoffed, "What is this, prison?"

Shaking her head and forcing a smile, she looked over at her son, trying to remember the last time she actually saw him, "You got a haircut," She managed to restrain herself from reaching out and running a hand through his now short cropped hair. He never liked that even when they were best of friends.

"We're infiltrating a military facility," John smiled, seeing her fingers twitch and knowing what it probably cost her to keep her distance, "Not a grunge concert. Everyone else is getting ready, I don't get special treatment."

"How'd Dooley take the news he'd have to lose that thing growing on his chin?" Sarah asked with a smirk, taking another drag off her cigarette.

"He bitched, he moaned... I told him to cut it off or he'd have to ride in with the civilians." The look on her son's face bordered on the evil, "Which includes Lorne and Cameron. I might have mentioned '100 bottles of beer on the wall'."

"You are evil!" Sarah chuckled, the thought of an overly peppy Lorne and an admittedly cheerful Cameron driving numb nuts up the wall something everybody should've wanted to see, "Any other whining going on? I can't imagine anybody being thrilled about having to act, you know, like a real soldier."

"Believe it or not, Cole was pissed she's not being allowed to play soldier." John shook his head, taking a last drag off his smoke before flicking it off into the snow, "She didn't realize we don't allow women in combat yet, so she's gonna be riding co-pilot in Huey's bird."

"The Ice Queen riding shotgun," Sarah shook her head with a coy grin, "It's quite a little crew you've assembled yourself here."

"What about you?" Tilting his sunglasses down further on his nose, he turned to regard his mother, "You pissed you'll be riding in with the families?"

"I'm more bothered about riding with your wife and her girlfriend." Shaking her head with a frown, she copied his motion of flicking her butt away, "What the hell do those two talk about anyway?"

"Surprisingly... girl stuff." John chuckled to himself, shoving his hands into his sweatshirt and kicking at the snow at his feet idly, "Clothes, boys, you know... the usual."

"So what, they're sitting painting each other's nails or something, come on?" She cast a skeptical look over at him. Of course Cameron was modeled on a teenage girl, but acting like one, Sarah wasn't buying it.

"I dunno," Deep down, John knew it probably wasn't a fantastic idea to push this button, but he just couldn't help himself, "She seemed to enjoy the pampering I gave her this morning. Breakfast in bed, bubble bath with candles... seemed pretty girly to me."

Sarah tried so hard to keep her face even and neutral, but she knew she'd failed, "A bubble bath. I'll bet she fell asleep while you were washing her hair too." She rolled her eyes, although she did manage to hide that from him.

Knowing that revealing what his wife considered to be 'defects' would only make her feel worse, he refrained from pointing out just how right Sarah was, "She makes me happy, mom. I was just trying to do the same. That's what a good husband does, right?"

"So," Sarah said in a forced cheerful voice, pushing herself up from the tree, "How've you been anyway, it's uh...been a while since I saw you."

"No big deal," John tried to match her tone with one equally light, with the same utter lack of success, "We've both been busy. I uh... how are you and Charley?"

"We're fine." Sarah said, nodding cheerfully, her enthusiasm just about matching his.

John smirked, "He know about the smoking? Or is that why you're out here doing it?"

"Well he..." Sarah looked up suddenly at the smirking John, "So what if he does, it's not like we're married or anything."

"I may be busy, but I'm not blind." Figuring that he might as well use the time he had to the best effect, John whipped the pack open and snagged another cigarette before offering it up to Sarah beside him, "I know he's been staying in your room, mom."

Sarah's jaw flapped around like a fish out of water, "Ho, how do you know that?"

Not that it wasn't true, but she was pretty sure she'd been discrete...and quiet.

Lighting his smoke, John chuckled while tapping his ear, "I'm married to the bionic woman, remember?"

Sarah frowned, and also promised herself a word with the Tin Miss about the merits of respecting other people's privacy. Deciding her own embarrassment warranted a little payback, she took a smoke out of the pack and let him light it, "So what was all that commotion about the other night?"

"What commotion?" Responding just a little too quickly to come off as casual, John adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt just a bit in an effort to keep the bruises on his neck from standing out more than was necessary. "I uh... I didn't hear anything."

"I did," Sarah noted the way he was trying to cover his neck. A mom always knew when her baby was trying to hide something. "It sounded like Cameron was having...troubles."

"She... I've been encouraging her to explore her emotions." John shrugged, trying to make it sound like it was nothing out of the ordinary, just another experiment to help him understand machines, "Wha, what did you hear?"

"I heard Lorne yelling, a couple of thuds, you whispering in her ear while you almost carried her up the stairs," Sarah shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant, and failing badly. "Then suddenly the house is off limits, what am I supposed to think?"

"She's having some... difficulties." Letting slip a weary sigh, John took a long drag off his cigarette while formulating a response. In a way, it felt good to be able to talk to someone about this, someone who at least understood him. "She's developing. Learning. It takes time, and there are gonna be bumps in the road."

"Are you alright?" Sarah asked, keeping her voice neutral and trying not to let her 'mom-worry' slip through, no matter how much she was worried. If the metal snapped, who knew what would happen to her boy.

"Of course I am, mom." John shuffled a little on his feet, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "Just worried about Cameron. She needs my help, ya know? That's what I've been focusing on."

"You have other things to focus on too you know." Her tone wasn't chastising, just concerned. The last thing anybody needed was the guy in charge neglecting everything he had to do, even if he was simply her son concerned about his wife.

"I know." Nodding along, he flicked his butt out onto the snow, more than a little impressed with the way Sarah was handling all this, "But I have people that I trust picking up the slack. Other people can organize supplies, no one else can help Cameron."

"What about Lorne?" Sarah enquired, ducking her head slightly to see her son's face hidden behind his hood.

"She tries, she really does." John smiled, clearly growing fond of the young soldier, "She's a good friend to my wife. But mom, it's like teaching a kid how everything works. It's a full-time job."

Sarah chuckled, "Who are you referring to as a kid, Lorne or your wife?"

"You really don't understand what she's going through, do you?" Shaking his head tiredly, John suddenly looked ten years older, "No one does. She was given the ability to grow, to feel these things... but Skynet had no idea what makes us human. She's scared, mom. She has no idea WHY she feels what she does."

More than a little surprised at John opening up to her like this, especially considering the relative hostility between them lately, Sarah found herself nodding along, "She's not, a danger, is she?"

"No." At that question, it was like a switch had been flipped, John immediately assuming his chosen role as Cameron's protector, "Absolutely not. I'm working with her, and she'll be fine. I just didn't want anyone around who might... spook her."

"She's not a kid, John." Sarah reminded gently, shaking her head a tiny amount, "Five year olds get spooked, not...cyborgs."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you mom... emotionally, she's a lot like a five year old right now." John pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing just one person would get this, "You should see her face when she crawls into bed and curls up. The way she looks at me, like I can make it all better."

"I uh," Sarah stuttered, looking at the tired expression on John's face, the way he only ever seemed to show emotion when he talked about his wife, especially when he was so clearly in love with...her. "I don't know what to say."

"Forget about it, it's my problem." Coughing into his hand, she almost missed the way he swiped at his face before forcing a smile, "It'll be fine. We're good."

Unable to fight off the urge, Sarah reached out and ran an affectionate hand behind her son's ear, lingering for a moment with a smile before quickly removing it and straightening up a little. "If you say so."

"Listen, uh... I'll try to set aside some night this week for a family dinner or something." Looking clearly uncomfortable, John rolled his shoulders idly, "You, me, Derek, Cameron. Just like old times."

Sarah found herself nodding, although she could think of so many reasons why that was a bad idea. However she couldn't deny that her son looked like he needed this, "Okay, dinner sounds good."

"Oh," Despite everything else, he couldn't help but laugh a little, "And you can bring your boyfriend."

"You're not too old for a smack upside the head!" Sarah said through a smile, swatting half heartedly at the back of his head.

Acting on impulse, John used the close quarters as an opportunity to step forward and wrap his arms around Sarah's stomach, a bit shocked at how small she seemed compared to the way he remembered her.

Holding her arms out to the side for a long second, Sarah couldn't say she had been expecting a hug. Slowly wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she had the feeling this was something John needed too.

Tucking his chin into his mother's shoulder, John smiled the first genuine smile he had since she arrived, "I missed you, mom."

"You too," Sarah replied with a smile of her own, slowly rubbing in circles over his back in just the way she had when he was a kid.

After a long moment, John pulled back, looking more than a little embarrassed at his outburst. Digging into his pocket, he pulled his cigarettes as well as the lighter out and offered them to Sarah sheepishly, "All yours. Cameron catches me with these and I'll be riding the couch."

Smirking, Sarah took the offered items and quickly pocketed them, "So...I guess I'll see you at dinner?"

"Sure thing." John waggled his eyebrows, bringing a thumb and pinkie finger up to the side of his head, "I'll have my people call your people."

"Sounds good." Despite herself, Sarah couldn't keep the grin off her face. It was nice to just be mom and son for a change, after all, it wouldn't last all that long, may as well treasure it while she had the chance.

Firing off a wave, John shoved the earbuds for his MP3 player into his ears and set off into the woods at a jog, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 16th, 2011  
1336hrs

Rachel waddled into the living room, her small frame positively hobbled by the sheer amount of junk food clamped between her arms and her chest, her chin pinching down on a bag of gummy bears, "Is this enough? I can get more if this isn't enough."

Cameron looked up from her curious inspection of a few split ends in her hair to find her friend looking like she was about to topple over. She had to admit, she was impressed with Rachel's scavenging abilities, "Where did you find all of that?"

"We live in a compound with a 10 year old little girl and a group of soldiers whose idea of heaven involves a ready supply of porno and chocolate." Smirking from ear to ear, Lorne dropped her take on the table and flopped back onto the couch, tossing her arms onto the back, "The trick is knowing which stash has the sweets and which one has the booze and smokes."

Cameron nodded slowly, perusing the contents of the pile when her eye was caught with something in particular, a slight narrowing of her eyes followed, "You found my cookies?"

Glancing over her friend's hand, she nodded a bit reluctantly, "Umm... yeah? Honey, they were under the sink. It's not like you had them in a lockbox surrounded by dobermans."

"But, they're mine." Cameron looked up at her friend, for all the world appearing hurt beyond belief that somebody she trusted had raided her stash. She didn't possess much in this world, besides John and her wedding ring that was. But the thought of somebody taking what she had filled Cameron with an unfamiliar feeling, and it was one she wasn't particularly fond of.

"My bad," Obviously not picking up on the cyborg's shift in mood, Rachel eyed the contents of the table before handing over the bag of cookies with a shake of her head, "Should have figured they were yours. Double chocolate and all."

"Put them back." Cameron glanced between the bag and her friend, unable to fathom why Rachel would be, in essence, stealing from her.

"Um... why don't you just eat some? That's why I brought all this stuff in the first place, Cameron."

Glancing once again between the bag and Rachel, Cameron shook her head. Being protective was one thing, but being petty was another. Leaning over, she plucked the bag up off the table and opened it, then very reluctantly extended it out towards Rachel, "Sorry. Please, take one."

"No biggie." Snatching up a cookie with a smile, Rachel flopped down onto the couch beside her friend, folding her bare feet up under her, "I have a surprise for you."

Carefully eying the cookie, Cameron tore her gaze away and to her human companion's face, a bright, beaming smile adorning her lips. She couldn't help the corner of her lips quirking up in response. "Surprise?"

"Um, yeah," Lorne seemed a bit thrown by the mood swings but was willing to power through, after all, John had told her to expect this, "Connor said you could do with a little girl time."

Reaching into the pockets of her sweatshirt, she whipped out two small, glass bottles, one red and the other a deep purple with a showman's flourish.

Switching her gaze back and forth between the bottles, Cameron's smile only grew. "Is this the human female custom of painting each other's nails?"

"Damn right it is!" Rachel's grin was impish, "We're an odd breed. Ancient tribal painting rituals, along with a healthy dose of gossip and a not-so-healthy junk food frenzy."

"Gossip?" Cameron asked with a tilt of her head, plucking the purple bottle out of Rachel's hand and holding it up to the light, carefully examining the shade, a slow smile creeping across her face at the prospect of having her nails done.

"Oh, come on!" Tossing Cole's blood-red polish onto the table with a laugh, Rachel ripped open a bag of tortilla chips and shoved a handful into her mouth, "I know you went to high school, you've gotta know gossip."

Cameron shrugged, twisting the top off the bottle with little effort, shards of dried varnish flying off into her lap. "The girls at school didn't talk to me much, although I did overhear several conversations about the captain of the football team and the head cheerleader, who is apparently rather promiscuous."

"Wow!" Rachel leaned forward and brushed the polish flakes off Cameron's lap with a smirk, "How long has it been since Sarah used this?"

"This is Sarah's?" Cameron asked, snapping her gaze up, looking at Rachel like she'd just told her elephants could sing, extending the bottle slightly farther away from herself.

"I assumed it was," Shrugging slightly, Rachel pulled her rather frizzed-out hair back into a rough ponytail in preparation of getting down to work, "It was in a cardboard box in her room. Had a 'C' word written on it."

Her friend's face screwed up in confusion as she tried to remember what it looked like, "Um...C... O... N... ya know what? It's not important."

"What else was in the box?" A slight tilt of Cameron's head told Rachel that she was intrigued, and most likely sidestepping her lack of literacy. Cameron busied herself with inspecting the contents of the bottle, pulling the brush out and smiling when she realized the shade perfectly matched her favorite leather jacket.

Rachel's smile was practically ear to ear, glad Cameron had let her slide, "Two bottles of everclear, a few packs of cigarettes, a stack of skin mags, and what looked a lot like a bag of Austin's hydroponics project. Wonder why she had all that shit in her room?"

Cameron frowned, looking up at Rachel. "Did the writing say 'Confiscated'?"

The contents of the box sounded vaguely familiar, a particular incident when less than complimentary accusations were bandied about springing to mind, "Was there a tube of my lip gloss in there too?"

"Yeah! That must have been it!" Rachel couldn't help but chuckle, "I can understand taking booze and weed, but why in the hell would she steal your makeup?"

Cameron shrugged, handing the nail polish off to Lorne and extending her hand, "She accused me of trying to seduce John with my shiny lips. Apparently men find them irresistible."

She hesitated for a moment, then carried on with her story, looking more guilty by the second, "I may have done some research on the topic."

"Ohhhhh, see, you _are_ good at gossip!" Pulling Cameron's hand up onto her lap, she leaned forward intently and started working on her thumb nail first, "So, did you put a lot of effort into getting Connor in the sack?"

"Not a lot." Cameron nodded, thinking back to the first time she successfully seduced her husband. All it took was slightly damp hair, a pair of panties, and one of his shirts. Why she hadn't managed it earlier she'd never know.

Leaning closer, she watched Rachel concentrating on her nails, the sliver of tongue peeking out from between her lips bringing a smile to her face. "John doesn't require much in the way of seduction."

"Considering the way you have him wrapped around your finger, I kinda figured." Moving on to her pointer finger she smirked, "How long have you two been... um, together, anyways?"

"Gossip?" Cameron asked, confirming for herself. She doubted Rachel would spread it around the barracks, but human customs were always a keen source of interest for her.

"More like research," Rachel shrugged, "Connor said that it would help you blend in once we reach the bunker if we got your backstory straight. Being his wife, you're gonna be the subject of a lot of gossip whether you like it or not."

"People will pay that much interest in me?" Cameron frowned, she'd always done her best to blend in to the background of whatever setting she was in, perhaps a bit of the Connor mentality rubbing off on her. Suddenly being thrust in to the spotlight wasn't something that appealed to her, even if it was as John's wife.

"Are you kidding?" Distracted by her work, Lorne snorted, "Connor is a 19 year old super-soldier who is gonna be in charge of everyone. Anyone connected to him is gonna be a hot topic."

Keeping up a frown that would've made most want to pat her on the head, Cameron self consciously fiddled with the hem of her shirt with her free hand, "What sort of things would they talk about?"

"When it comes to Connor?" The snort returned full-force, causing Rachel's entire body to shake. "Probably what he's like in the sack. That and where his scars came from were the two biggies in the future."

"Why would they wish to know about my husband's performance in bed? It's really not that interesting." Not realizing the implied meaning she'd put in to that statement, Cameron leaned over and plucked a cookie from the open bag sitting in between her and Rachel.

"Wow... wouldn't let him hear you say that. His ego probably wouldn't survive the blow." Rachel shook her head, "You really just don't get how important he is to everyone, do you?"

"But it's my understanding that things like that are our personal lives." Cameron frowned pointedly, her confusion evident, "People don't need to know what we do in bed."

"They are your personal lives," Rachel blushed a bit, blowing her bangs out of her face while continuing with Cameron's nails, "But... he's Connor."

"That could become a problem," Cameron was forced to admit, plucking another cookie out of the bag and offering it to Rachel. "I don't want to reveal things like that, except to you that is."

"That's what we're trying to prevent," Leaning forward, she snatched the cookie between her teeth and started chewing, not bothering to finish before she continued, "The more people know for sure, the less they can make up for themselves. Dunno if you noticed, but your husband is, well... hot. You'd best stake a claim, stake it loud, clear, and early."

Cameron held up her left hand in front of her face and waited for Rachel to tear her attention away from her pinky finger. "Isn't that what this ring is for? John has one too."

"Um, yeah." Finishing up on Cameron's hand, Rachel leaned back and rolled her stiffening shoulders, a night sleeping on the couch not doing nice things to her back, "Did that stop Cole?"

Cameron lowered her hand slowly, her frown matching Rachel's grimace. "No. You believe we might encounter the same problems? I don't want that Rachel, not now," Her voice picked up slightly, the thoughts of having to compete for John's affections after recent events not exactly appealing.

"Just remember - women are like sharks." At Cameron's confused look, Rachel decided to clarify, "They smell blood and they'll be all over him. John has been having a rough time, Darla sensed weakness, and she attacked it. If everyone believes he's happy with his marriage, they'll steer clear."

Cameron's head cocked to the side as she contemplated Rachel's words. "How would you 'stake your claim'?"

Thinking back over the course of their relationship, Cameron realized she'd never really had to do much in the way of displaying public affection. People just knew she was with John, it had never been a problem.

Rachel blushed pointedly, hiding under her bangs while reaching out and snagging Cameron's other hand, "I uh... that's not really my..."

"Please. How do I do this?" Cameron looked up, pleading with her friend for help, anything to keep John's attention solely on her, not realizing that she already was the sole focus of his attentions, permanently.

Letting slip a long sigh, Lorne started in on Cameron's hand while doing her best not to meet her eyes during such an embarrassing conversation, "Have you, uh... seen Carmack and Coons together?"

"Yes. Derek finds their activities particularly disturbing."

"Well I wouldn't advise going quite _that_ far, but it's a decent example." Shrugging, Rachel continued, "You might also think about trading in a little of the slightly withdrawn schoolgirl for a more... Cole-ish approach when dealing with people."

"But John likes me the way I am, he's told me never to change," Frowning, Cameron looked decidedly uncomfortable with pretending to be something she wasn't, at least, while not infiltrating.

Nodding absently, she finished off her friend's hand quickly, "Yeah. He's pretty awesome that way, isn't he?"

"I'm not sure how he'd feel about me acting more like...Cole." Setting her foot on Rachel's lap, she frowned again, considering the prospect of draping herself all over John out in public, "John is...conservative, about our relationship."

"Um..." It was getting harder and harder for Rachel not to laugh, "Weren't you two dry-humping on the couch during movie night?"

"That didn't go over well, Coons was terrified," Wiggling her toes, she craned her neck to watch Rachel work, "People don't like me displaying anything but mechanical behavior around them."

"What matters is what _John_ likes." Lorne couldn't help but giggle a little at how unintentionally girly her best friend was at times, right down to the toe-wiggling, "Besides, the whole point is that these people won't know you're a cyborg. Human women, especially our age, cling."

"Cling?"

"Oh God... human 101 time already?" Pausing in her painting, Rachel's tongue stayed firmly planted in the corner of her mouth while she thought, "It's kind of our way of saying 'back off bitch, he's taken.' Guys may say they hate it, but it makes them feel secure too."

Cameron frowned, clearly pouting at her friend's reference to 'human 101', "You're making fun of me."

"I was just giving you shit." Rachel quirked a brow, "What? John never teases you?"

She shook her head, still keeping up the pout of a six year old being told she couldn't have any more candy, "No. He is patient with me when I don't understand something."

"Jesus," Chuckling to herself, she went back to work on the cyborg's foot, "Are you married to a General or a Saint?"

Letting loose a very human sounding sigh, Cameron adjusted her foot in Rachel's grasp to try and take the undoubted weight off. Deep down she knew Rachel was trying to help her, but some things she was saying were getting to her in ways they never had before.

"People are going to be talking to me, about me," She paused when Rachel looked up, "What should I tell them?"

"It's really up to you, Cameron. You just need to make sure you keep your story straight." Finishing up with her first foot, Lorne slapped her lap, knowing she couldn't hope to drag Cameron's foot anywhere, "Men will steer clear I'm guessing, after all, Connor is pretty intimidating."

"Women usually just want the basic dirt - how old you are, how long you've been married, when you met John...," Rachel's blush deepened considerably, "When you lost your virginity. You know, normal gossip shit."

"What do men want to know?" Cameron inquired, propping her foot up and leaning back on the armrest, carefully examining her finished toes off to the side.

"Um, if you're married," Lorne snickered, "And if hubby can beat their ass."

"That won't be a problem," She raised her freshly painted hand, flashing her gleaming ring with a smile, "How old am I? John is nineteen, what would be appropriate?"

"You could pass for nineteen, but with your current issues..." She trailed off, hoping Cameron would get her point without her having to be painfully blunt.

"I look older?" Cameron pouted, "I don't think John would like to be called a 'toy boy'." An article she'd read popped up in the corner of her HUD, informing her that men may feel emasculated by an older woman. That just wouldn't do.

"I was actually thinking... younger." Rachel shrugged, hoping to breeze past this without Cameron getting worked up, "You know, it might help explain a bit of the emotional immaturity."

"Oh, thank you for explaining." Cameron leaned over and picked up a bag of jelly sweets off the table, no doubt belonging to Savannah, and set about opening it, "How detailed will I need to be with my relationship?"

"Well you can't exactly tell them you're a cyborg sent back in time to protect John Connor and rock his world, now can you?" Lorne's grin was ear to ear.

"No, it might not be believable," Cameron admitted with a smirk, "So more human details then? Lies?"

"Well, you and John have been bumping uglies for like, years now, right?" Going back to her work, she resumed chewing on her lip, "You already act like an old married couple, well, when you overlook the 'got to have you right now' looks, that is."

"John does get that look often," She confirmed, totally missing that it was a shared expression, "But no, we haven't been together for years."

"You're kidding, right?" Rachel thought they were way past her best friend keeping things from her, "Come on, you two have been sleeping together at least since I got here. The way he looked at you? The way you always checked yourself, not so subtly I might add, before walking in to any room he was in?"

"You noticed that?" Cameron asked with a disbelieving frown, usually she was very, very aware of her surroundings. "We've only been together since just before you and I became friends."

"Oh, wow..." A thought seemed to occur to the older woman, "Wait. You're telling me that Connor fought off Cole's advances for nearly a year and he wasn't even getting any?"

A whole new respect for her future General seemed to enter Lorne's eyes at that.

"Yes, John remained a virgin until then," Cameron smiled shyly, "I was his first, and he was mine."

Now _that_ was funny. Rachel had to pull back before she spilled the bottle of nail polish all over Cameron's foot, laughing so hard she dissolved into a coughing fit, "John... John CONNOR... was a VIRGIN... until he was nineteen?"

Cameron frowned, not at all liking anybody, even someone as close as Rachel laughing at her husband. At her. "It's not funny. Why are you laughing?"

"Come on, Cameron, it's pretty damn funny." Reigning in her laughter to a more respectable snickering, Rachel continued, "He's John fucking Connor. He saves the human race, and ain't hard on the eyes either. I uh... I wouldn't spread that tidbit around if I was you."

"It isn't funny, and if it might be considered to be embarrassing, then I'd appreciate it if you don't mention it too," Her tone left no room for argument, taking her husband's pride very seriously. Although her face did soften as her toes wiggled again, "I'll tell people we've been together for two years. Is that acceptable?"

Despite feeling distinctly intimidated, Rachel couldn't help but find it cute the way Cameron went all 'snarling she-wolf' when it came to John, "That's fine, honey. Look, it's not that it's a bad thing to... ya know, wait. But you're dealing with soldiers. I lost my virginity at fifteen, and I'm pretty sure I hung on longer than most people post J-day."

"Very well," Cameron confirmed with a nod, seemingly harboring no ill feeling from a moment ago as she popped a gummy bear in her mouth and chewed with a small sense of intrigue, the fruity bear tingling her tongue like nothing had before, bringing a smile to her face. "What else will I need to know?"

"You can probably just use your real wedding date," Rachel shrugged, "Squeezed it in just before J-day. I'm assuming there's a reason no family is around, right? So, they dead or were you planning on playing Little Orphan Annie?"

"Which is more believable?" She leaned forward and offered the bag of sweets to Rachel, smiling when she dug a handful out, "People die all the time."

"I dunno," Finishing up on Cameron's foot she gently slid it off onto the table, laying the bottle down beside it and tossing the entire handful of bears into her mouth with relish, "Connor _is_ the type that picks up strays, ain't he? Parents could have been Skynet casualties, he took you in?"

"Wouldn't that make our relationship more like siblings?" Cameron asked, leaning forward and stealing a chip from Rachel's bag.

"He's male, and you're... hot." Fighting off a blush, Lorne blew her bangs out of her face, only for them to promptly resettle in front of her eyes, earning a glare from the soldier, "It's not a huge stretch that you two started off friends and moved on to the... the lovin', later."

"That is true, we were always...mostly always, friends." Deciding the 'Riley months' weren't worth the processing time, Cameron focused on her current quandary, trying not to smear nail varnish on the bottom of her jeans, pulling the denim higher up her legs, "Do I need to have any more details? Do I need a hobby?"

"Um...", Rachel smirked, "Do you have a hobby? I mean, besides sex with John and fighting terminators?"

Cameron shrugged, "I don't know, I just assumed people would ask about me personally. Would it not be more effective if I had something to tell?"

"Good point." Catching sight of the way Cameron seemed to be glowing with every bite of snack food she took, an idea hit her, "Cooking! I mean, you cook for John all the time right? Is that gonna stop once you're in the bunker?"

Cameron's eyes lit up, she did take a certain satisfaction from cooking for her husband, "John does like my cooking. It's a remarkably simple activity, I'm surprised Amanda is so bad at it."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Kicking her own feet up on the table, she bumped Cameron's shoulder good-naturedly, "Speaking of lover-boy. You two have plans tonight? Don't think I haven't noticed you looking at the stairs every three minutes."

Cameron smiled, bumping her friend back gently with a smile, "John has promised that we can have sex tonight."

Rachel coughed on her chips, slapping her chest a few times to dislodge the pointy bastards from her throat, "He... Jesus. Wow, cyborgs really do like to plan everything out, don't they?"

Cameron frowned, clearly not understanding Rachel's reaction, "You asked. And yes, I do plan everything, I find it calming to know what's coming."

"Apparently, _you_ will be!" At her friend's vacant expression, she rolled her eyes, "Okay, we'll hold off on sex jokes for now. Seriously though, Cameron... are you sure you're up for it? You've been through a lot."

Cameron smiled in stark contrast to Rachel's tone, not picking up on the problem, "I enjoy sex with my husband, why shouldn't I be anticipating it?"

"Because sex is different when emotions get involved," Rachel hugged herself a little, for some reason never feeling quite as lonely as she did when her friend was so obviously happy with her husband. "And you've been acting... differently. You freaked out in your sleep last night just because John went to the bathroom."

Cameron swung her head around so fast it looked like it might fall off her shoulders were it not literally welded on, "What do you mean?" She asked, sounding more alarmed than she had through their entire conversation.

"Whoa, not _that_ big a deal." Holding her hands up in a placating way, Rachel tried to keep her voice soothing, "You just started moaning and, like clawing around, when you realized John wasn't cuddling you. It's cool though, you stopped once you got his pillow."

"No, you must be mistaken," Cameron shook her head, fruitlessly searching through her memory banks for any recollection of what Rachel was telling her. The thought of not being aware of her actions downright terrifying to the logic driven cyborg.

"I was standing right there, Cameron." Catching the way her friend seemed to be getting worked up, she decided to try and derail her again, "It did bring up something I wanted to talk to you about though, if you're comfortable enough, that is."

"What?" Cameron asked, sounding distracted, lost in her own mind going through the possibilities of her sleep possibly putting John's safety at risk. If she wasn't aware of what was going on, she could hurt him when she moved, they could be attacked, anything could happen.

"What is up with you and Connor's smell?" Rachel rolled her eyes theatrically, "You were all worked up, but as soon as you got a whiff, BAM! Looked like someone hit you with a tranquilizer gun. I mean, he smells normal to me."

Still internally panicking, she tried her best to answer the question, albeit distractedly. "His scent lets me know he's close. I have enhanced senses, more powerful than that of a human."

"So, it relaxes you? Well, that's good." Her friend slouched back into the couch with an easy smile, "I was afraid it was some kinda animal thing. Ya know, getting turned on by smell or something."

"It does that too," Cameron looked up, thinking about that morning in the bath, her arousal and relaxation at the same time, "His pheromones affect me in ways I never thought they would."

Letting out a long sigh, Rachel flopped her head back onto the couch, rubbing her eyes, "Please, for the love of God, remind me to never hang around when John is working out."

"They don't affect you, only me," She paused to think about it, her fists tightening involuntarily, thankfully the polish was mostly dry, "Rival females affect me too, they...bother me when they're around my John."

"Wow... all women? Or just 'rivals'?" Rachel gulped, suddenly replaying every time she'd been around John in the last few weeks for potential tells, "What uh... what exactly does someone have to do to be a rival?"

"Rivals," Cameron clarified, eying Rachel carefully, particularly the blush running up her neck to her cheeks, "I know you're not a rival, you would never try to seduce John...you're safe."

Letting out a visible breath of relief, Rachel felt like she'd dodged a very real bullet. She knew full well how fine-tuned the cyborgs senses were, "Of course not. _Your_ John."

"Yes, my John..." Cameron paused, looking down at her lap, idly fiddling with her newly painted nails. "Thank you Rachel."

"Any time." Leaning close, Lorne broke out her biggest grin, "If you want, we could always have another classic piece of girl time, get you ready for your big night with hubby. After all, just because he doesn't _need_ lots of seduction, doesn't mean he doesn't deserve it."

The corner of Cameron's mouth quirking up in to a tiny smile, she tilted her head just a fraction to the side, "What do you have in mind?"

Rachel's grin became decidedly devious as she snatched the cyborg's hand and hopped up from the couch, "Oh, you're gonna love this!"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 16th, 2011  
1615hrs

Checking herself one final time in the mirror, Cameron gave her hair a quick flick, freeing it from the confines of her garment of choice...one of John's old shirts. When Rachel had asked her what she was planning on wearing for her mission, several possibilities sprung to mind, but the logic driven cyborg had decided to stick with what she knew, something that had worked before. The shirt coupled with a pair of lacy panties were sure to work, they always had in the past.

Satisfied that she was ready, she slowly and silently stepped out of the bathroom, a very definite sense of anticipation taking hold of her. The afternoon spent with Rachel building her up towards this, several hours spent discussing the best way to seduce her husband would be considered time well spent if everything went well. But what she hadn't been prepared for when she stepped across the threshold of the bathroom was the smell.

_John was nearby_.

Pausing in her tracks, his scent took her completely by surprise, almost overwhelming her, the pheromones wafting through the open bedroom door. All the time she'd spent working on her approach, and she'd never prepared herself for how she would react when around her husband, after all, she had absolutely no idea how to plan for the way her body seemed to react to certain stimuli.

Slowly and carefully, she approached the door, faint grunts emerging from inside the room. She cautiously peeked her head around the door frame, scanning from one side to the other until her eyes landed on John.

For his part, her husband failed to notice the head bobbing in the entryway, totally focused on his 'cooldown' exercises. After his conversation with Sarah and dealing with the myriad of complaints his normally docile soldiers had about the new dress code, he'd felt the desperate need for a little physical activity.

The weather was reasonably nice, at least for springtime in Colorado, and he'd spent the better part of two hours doing laps around the perimeter of the compound. With more than an hour left until their scheduled date night, John had decided to use the opportunity for a little endurance work before he showered and shaved, and was currently well into his sit-ups.

It wasn't a common occurrence for a cyborg to be stuck with her mouth hanging open, but then again nothing about Cameron was acting particularly normal these days. The sight of her husband bare from the waist up, a thin sheen of sweat coating his upper body, the smell of hours of physical exercise making her lose her very detailed and well-planned train of thought. Instead she found herself rooted to the spot, gawking, for want of a better word.

Slapping the floor with a less than dignified grunt as he rolled forward onto bare feet, John rolled his neck around while dancing over towards their bedroom closet, ducking side to side and throwing a few quick punches in a style that spoke volumes about how much training he'd been receiving from his second in command.

Shoving the door open with a flick of a wrist, he curled his fingers into the far side of the weathered frame and yanked himself up with a growl, immediately launching into a set of pull-ups before his muscles cooled down.

Taking a tentative step in to the room, Cameron kept her eyes locked on the bare torso of her husband as he pulled himself up, the muscles in his arms and midsection tensing and relaxing with every movement.

As she approached him slowly, her thoughts became more and more muddled with every step in his direction. She had intended to follow through on Rachel's advice, or rather, her warning, and stake her claim on her husband. Not that she didn't want and enjoy sex too, but for some reason it seemed more urgent when there was the possibility of added competition in the near future.

But as soon as she'd caught sight and smell of her husband, all she could focus on was the desire to rip off what remaining clothing he still had on and go to work, whether he wanted to or not. A distant part of her knew it wasn't exactly a healthy thought... but there it was.

Pausing in mid-extension, John's head quirked to the side, pivoting his ear in the direction of the open doorway with a weary sigh. Dropping down to his feet with a soft thud, he rubbed the back of his neck in slow circles with his left hand while leaving his right hanging loosely from the frame, figuring Cameron would have announced her entry, "What is it, Lorne? I've got a date with Cameron in..."

Glancing at his watch, John grimaced a bit, "Ten minutes!"

A small, devious smile crept to the corner of her lips as she very slowly approached her husband, making sure to stay in his blind spot until she was right beside him. Her smile growing, she delicately trailed her fingers across and round his chest, her soft lips pressing against his skin just under his extended arm.

John shivered noticeably, not from surprise, but rather from the telltale coolness of the flesh pressed against his heated skin, telling him in no uncertain terms who was in the room with him. Still, he couldn't stop himself from having just a little fun, "I sure hope you don't greet all your superior officers this way..."

Smirking, she ignored his comment, and instead ducked under his arm, her fingers moving across his chest as she made her way around in front of him. Looking up at him, Cameron dropped a soft kiss on his chest, "Rachel would never have the confidence to do that, John. She's a good girl."

"Somehow," Her husband quirked a brow when he caught sight of Cameron's choice of attire, but didn't try to impede her in the slightest. After all, he was the one who kept telling her to do what felt right, "I doubt she'd be interested in a smelly teenager with a buzz-cut. Your friend likes the pretty boys."

"You are pretty," Cameron turned her head to the side slightly, laying her cheek on his chest, taking in a deep simulated breath, and it occurred to her in that moment that at least to her, it was like a drug. Her favorite drug.

Having been earlier totally focused on staking her claim, she'd been using all her willpower to stay that way. However, upon seeing her husband, she'd lost all of her carefully cultivated calm and focus. Instead, all she could manage was enough restraint to not simply tackle him from where he hung.

Letting the fingers of his right hand uncurl from the doorframe, John sank back down totally onto his feet. For a moment he was about to wrap his arms around her, but upon picking up the slight dampness of her hair and the familiar scent of her shampoo, he decided that wrapping her up in a sweaty bear-hug was probably a bad idea, "I know I'm running a little late, Cam. Just let me grab a shower and we'll get back on track, okay?"

Cameron looked at him like he'd just threatened to take away her favorite leather jacket and burn it while Cole and Sarah watched and added gasoline. Shaking her head, she dipped her fingers in his waistband and tugged him closer, a slow smile creeping across her face as she pulled him flush to her, "No."

Still reluctant to touch her, he couldn't help but quirk a brow at her odd behavior, the action causing the still-healing scars on the left side of his face to crinkle uncomfortably, "But... I'm filthy."

"I know," Cameron responded, standing stock still and looking up at him, leaning forward until her chin came in to contact with his chest, her nose tucking in to the crook of his neck. Her behavior would've been odd, sniffing him like some kind of animal, but they were both well aware of how she responded to his scent.

John couldn't help but shiver at the feeling of Cameron pressing up against him, his heartbeat refusing to slow down the way it usually did after his exercises. Unable to restrain himself any more, he let his hands drift slowly along her back, pulling her to him with a smile, "I thought we had a date?"

"And you're running late," Cameron mumbled against his skin, her tongue poking out ever so slightly to caress his neck as she stood on her toes.

Done with her teasing, she pulled back to look at him, barely managing to keep herself restrained, "It's not polite to keep a lady waiting."

Smiling down at his wife, John pulled back to get a better look at her, eyes drifting from her freshly painted toes, up her bare legs, past the hem of his Guns n Roses shirt, and finally to her face, "You're not exactly dressed yourself."

Cameron's face remained as stony as possible as she stepped back, detaching herself from him with great reluctance. Without a word or any kind of warning, she gripped the hem of the garment as it billowed around her frame and whipped it off over her head without so much as a pause.

Head cocking to the side, she eyed John up like a piece of meat, wanting so much to do things with her husband she hadn't had the pleasure of in what felt like forever.

John Connor, prophesied leader of the Resistance, destroyer of Skynet and the very model of the take-charge, kill first and ask questions never soldier, could only stand there with his mouth hanging slightly agape at the sight greeting him.

Sure, Cameron had been more aggressive lately, more sure of herself and her desires, and certainly less reluctant to go for what she wanted. But John had never seen that look on her face, and frankly, it was a little frightening. "Um... Cameron?"

Letting the shirt that was still dangling in her fingertips finally drop to the ground, she raised her eyes up to meet his, tearing them away from the rest of him, waiting for him to do something, to make the first move. She didn't trust herself to do anything too forceful, after al, the last time she'd lost control she'd almost killed him...but it was tough going all the same, "Yes John?"

In typical John fashion, it took him a moment to tear his eyes away from her chest and to actually meet her eyes, shaking himself as if waking up, "I uh... I take it you're not thinking dinner and a movie?"

Cameron's head slowly moved from side to side, only confirming his suspicion that he was the only thing that was present on her menu. "I want you, nothing else."

She took a step closer, laying her fingers on his chest again, feeling his heartbeat thudding away very quickly under the contact, bringing a smile to her face that would've powered Las Vegas for weeks.

John just nodded repeatedly, tongue unconsciously darting out between his lips while fighting his own internal battle for control. She'd been so vulnerable, so unsure of herself... where had this Cameron come from all of a sudden? "Are you sure that you're up to this?"

Sliding her hands up to her shoulders, she raised up to her toes, paused for a moment before kissing him. It had been so long that the sensations almost overwhelmed her, the tingling feeling running up and down her spine when he kissed back were something she'd never get tired of.

Ignoring the fact that she hadn't answered his question, which was pretty easy to do with your wife's tongue shoved halfway down your throat, John groaned into her mouth, pulling her to him in a way that would have sent a human woman squealing in discomfort while letting his right hand drift up her neck and into her hair.

Now that he was finally responding, altogether too slowly for her taste, Cameron started pushing him backwards towards the bed. Intent on following through with her mission, making sure John knew how she felt, she kissed him with a fervor rarely known for her, passionately running her hands over every spare inch of flesh she could find.

John grinned into the kiss, bringing his hands around until they rested between them, wasting no time before ghosting both his thumbs over her tightening nipples, enjoying the sounds every tiny movement seemed to be eliciting from his normally placid wife.

Just as the back of his legs made contact with mattress, a sharp exclamation from the hallway shattered the carefully cultivated atmosphere of the room. Glancing up and craning his neck to the side, John caught sight of Derek just as he managed to throw his uninjured arm up in front of his face and stumble blindly towards his room.

"Jesus Christ!" Growling audibly, the soldier used the banister as a guide as he fumbled along, clearly in a less than stellar mood, "Other people live here too! Use the fucking door!"

Cameron remained undeterred, glancing back at the bumbling idiot only momentarily before shoving John back on to the bed and wasting no time before straddling his lap. The whole world could've been watching, she didn't care so long as she got to be with her John.

Unfortunately for Cameron, John did seem more than a little affected by the interruption, turning a shade of red that had nothing at all to do with arousal, "Um... just give me a second, Cameron. I thought you shut the door when you came in."

Pausing mid way towards reaching for his belt buckle, Cameron flashed him a smile that melted his heart. "You distracted me."

Swinging a leg over, she climbed off of him and perched herself down on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to close the door and return to her.

"Yeah..." Hopping up with a speed that was pretty rare for him these days, John jogged over to the door sporting a goofy grin that practically screamed, 'teenage boy about to get some', "I was distracting..."

Still smiling, Cameron watched him go, shuffling back on to the bed a little in anticipation. The smile was removed from her face however when her eyes raised up to catch sight of the curious new marking on his shoulder.

Scanning in closer, she identified the marking, and it was about that time that her carefully manufactured calm disappeared, giving way to overwhelming feelings, sadness, anger, disappointment. Face forming in to a frown, she watched him turn around, a bright smile making her realize he either didn't care and was flaunting the mark in front of her, or more likely, was simply ignorant of it's meaning.

This was all Cole's doing, the tiny DC stenciled along the bottom of the shield giving it away easily, although Cameron was probably the only person who would be able to notice it easily. Suddenly, rather than lashing out, she felt the urge, the instinct, the desire to stake her claim on her husband returning with renewed vigor.

Standing up from the bed, she didn't even wait for him to return to her before throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and locking her lips with his, trying to force him impossibly close to her.

Not expecting the ferocity of her assault, John was thrown off balance instantly, stumbling back until the wall stopped his progress, eyes widening in shock and more than a little pain, "Cameron?"

Slamming him back again, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud, Cameron kept up her onslaught, her hands roaming freely over his body. One hand focusing on his chest while she lowered her lips to his neck, the other traveling south and gripping his belt buckle. Blindly fumbling, she tried her best to undo it while not letting him move an inch with the hand pressed hard to his chest.

Despite how good the lips on his neck felt, John could feel his heart practically beating it's way out of his chest as adrenaline rushed through his veins. The last time he'd been in this position with Cameron, she'd nearly choked the life out of him.

"C...Cameron? Come on, we have a bed." Unable to do much else with a super-strong cyborg bearing down on him, he chuckled uncomfortably.

Barely processing his words, Cameron kept up her assault, stepping back, but making sure she kept him in place with one hand. Finally releasing him, she only did so for long enough to bring both hands to his belt, focusing all her thought on removing the damn thing as quickly as she could without snapping it.

Finally releasing the clasp, she gave it a quick tug, freeing the entire garment from his waist and discarding it over her shoulder. With barely a moment's hesitation, she was on him again, fingers dipping under his waistband impatiently as her lips found their way back to his neck.

"Okay... that's..." Surprising even himself, John shook his head as if to clear it, which was definitely necessary at this point. Twisting in an expert evasion maneuver, he ducked under her arm before her hand reached it's goal and stood off to one side, rather comically holding his fatigues up with a hand on his waistband, "Did I miss something here? Cause... and don't think I'm complaining or anything... you're not usually this... aggressive."

John quirked a brow as something seemed to click into place, vividly remembering their session in the bathroom before her breakdown, "Unless... you're angry."

Releasing what sounded more like a noise an animal should've been making, Cameron growled in frustration, looking one step short of stomping her foot. "I'm not angry with you."

"Bullshit." He was never more sure of anything in his entire life, shaking his head slowly side to side, "This may be new, but I know you. I... I fucked up, didn't I?"

"You didn't," Cameron protested, shaking her head almost as vehemently as he was, "It's her fault."

John stopped at that, his face contorting in obvious confusion, "Whose fault? You're gonna have to help me, Cam... my blood is a little lower than my brain at the moment."

Frowning in frustration, partially with her pent up emotions, but mostly how dense her husband could be sometimes, Cameron could feel her fists clenching subconsciously, oddly enough though she didn't want to stop the action. "Cole, she marked you with that symbol," She waved an arm in the vague direction of his shoulder.

Despite everything he'd been told about his new ink, he could tell by Cameron's reaction it was clearly upsetting her, "The Tech-Com symbol? Most of the soldiers have ink, Cam... I was just trying to fit in."

"That's not what it is," Fighting off the urge to break something, Cameron turned around, facing away from him. After taking a moment to sort through what she was feeling, and doing her best to ignore the scent still filling the room, she turned back. "It's her symbol, the one you assigned to her and her group of assassins. The ones that killed for you John."

"She told me it was..." John trailed off, feeling like he was on the verge of being physically ill, "Dammit! Derek tried to warn me... half the men tried to warn me!"

Leaning back against the wall, he brought both hands up to rub angrily at his face, "Why would she do that?"

"They hate me...us," Cameron said cryptically, in stark contrast to earlier, she sounded more sad than angry about the situation, her emotions getting the better of her.

Looking down at the floor, she couldn't help but feel guilty over causing this stress once again, "She did it to get to me."

"Cyborgs?" Stepping closer, John couldn't fight off the urge to comfort his clearly disturbed wife, reaching out tentatively and wrapping an arm around her waist, "But... I... the General, he reprogrammed you. Why would he support a group that hated machines?"

"He looked the other way, because of what they did for him," Despite the situation, Cameron found herself leaning in to the contact with her husband. Her only real source of comfort.

"Wow. Just... wow." Shaking his head, John leaned forward, suddenly looking infinitely tired as he rested his forehead against Cameron's, "I'm a real prick. Well, I will be."

Rather than folding in to his arms like he was clearly expecting, Cameron shrugged out of his grasp and stepped back. The fact she was mostly naked didn't register to her as her face turned to a serious mask, "What are you going to do about it?"

"What?" Seeing the 'robot mask' fall into place was like a physical blow to John. She used that with other people, but never with him... not anymore, "I don't exactly have time for extensive cosmetic surgery before J-day."

"Something has to be done," Her tone left no room for argument, John could practically see the cogs turning in her mind of all the no doubt horribly painful methods the ink could be removed, "She can't keep doing this to me, John. To us."

"I can deal with her," John insisted, taking a step forward though he didn't dare try to initiate contact at this point, "I fucked up, it's my deal. You at least trust me to handle that much, don't you?"

"So what are you going to do?" Cameron asked, stepping forward just a little, her stare almost predatory.

"What I have to." There was absolutely no tone in John's voice, reminding Cameron eerily of the General she'd left behind in the future, "You're my wife. No one hurts you and gets away with it, and she's going to learn that the hard way."

Finding herself oddly enthused by his words, a smile tugged at the very corner of her lips, although she quickly hid it. The thought of staking her claim on her man becoming more appealing by the second, that coupled with the idea of Cole finally knowing just where she stood appealing very much to Cameron's fledgling petty side. "I think you should get something to display your loyalty to me, not to those..._people_."

"I, uh...," John couldn't help but look a little bemused, despite the circumstances, "I didn't realize there was a symbol for reformed cyborgs."

"There is," Cameron stepped closer, gently laying her palm flat over his heart, her eyes never leaving his, "You gave us all names. We never had them under Skynet's rule."

Smiling softly, John lifted his hand up and covered Cameron's gently where it rested on his chest, "Are you trying to say that you want me to get your name tattooed on me?"

"Yes," Cameron replied without any hesitation, her eyes lowering to their joined hands, "Here."

John looked a little reluctant, but not for the reason she probably thought. "You, uh... you realize that Cole is the only person in camp who can do it, right?"

"I do," Still staring at their hands where they rested on his chest, an idea came to Cameron quicker than her emotions were swinging these days, "I want to be there when she does it."

"Then you will be." He leaned forward, slowly, hesitantly, pulling her flush with his body, "It's the least she can do. You have to believe me - I never would have done this if I'd known what that symbol meant. I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Realizing he was very much telling the truth, mostly from the skin on skin contact, Cameron allowed herself to forget about that momentary blip with her John, instead she refocused on her original thoughts, the discussion about Cole only driving home her fears and doubts about added competition for John's affections.

Hands sinking lower again, a coy smile slipped in to place as she lowered her lips to his chest, just above the spot where her name would soon be permanently etched, that thought making her grin grow as she kissed the entire area greedily.

John was pretty sure these mood swings were going to give him whiplash one of these days, but was coherent enough to realize that it was something he'd just have to get used to until she adapted to her newly awakened emotions. Until she managed to reign in her impulses. "I love you."

Normally she'd have swooned, but not today. Cameron could only focus on the idea of getting John in to bed after having wasted so much valuable naked time talking about things that shouldn't have had to have been discussed. Tugging on the front of his fatigues, she did her best impression of a hammer thrower, spinning him around and pushing him backwards to flop on to the bed in one smooth motion.

Not waiting to give him a chance to recover, she was on him, straddling him and kissing him passionately, her hands framing his face, a low groan emanating from low down her throat.

Gulping low in his throat, John did his best to keep pace with his wife, kissing her back while running his hands up her sides and over to her breasts, nibbling her bottom lip with a rakish grin.

Groaning at the contact on her chest, she pulled back, John's grip on her lower lip still in place, causing a very minor flash of pain to register in her systems. Grinning to herself, she leaned closer, running her tongue up and down his throat, at the same time taking hold of his hands and holding them above his head, pinning them in place to the bed.

For all intents and purposes, she had the future leader of humanity at her mercy, and it brought her a sudden thrill to know that she was the only woman who would ever be able to do that to him.

Despite everything that had happened lately, John had to admit that there were certain advantages to Cameron's newfound emotions - this side of her something he wouldn't trade for the world. There was a time he would have been intimidated by her so clearly showing her physical superiority, but now he just found it a soothing reminder of how special his wife really was. "Was I doing that badly?"

He was talking again, Cameron couldn't understand why John insisted on trying to have a conversation when she was busy with what she considered to be far more important tasks. Tightening her grip on his wrists, she released a low growl of frustration, baring her teeth and nibbling along the tender skin of his neck lightly, just enough to let him know exactly what she was doing, and hopefully to shut the hell up.

John let out a helpless groan of his own, doing the only thing he could while locked in Cameron's vice-like grip and arching his hips up to meet her, wishing he wasn't still wearing BDUs when she was stripped down to nothing but panties.

Kissing her way lower, hands following inches behind, eventually she found her way down to the waist of his pants, her fingers curling over the tops of them. Without looking up, she hauled them down and off, discarding them in the quickly growing pile of clothing in the middle of the room.

Performing the same routine with his boxers, she efficiently stripped him as bare as the day he was born, letting out a low groan of approval as she crawled back up his body, kissing his chest, keeping him pinned under her impossibly strong hands.

Ignoring the impatient banging coming from the wall separating Derek's bedroom from theirs, something John figured they'd both have to learn to ignore once they were trapped in a four and a half acre bunker with hundreds of other people, he idly wondered how this was supposed to work when he wasn't even allowed to touch his wife.

Sinking lower, her lips captured his again. Cameron released her grip on his wrists a little, but only to reposition his hands, placing one on her spine, planting his fingers where she wanted them over the lowermost vertebrae. The other however, she guided between their bodies, painstakingly placing his fingers exactly where she wanted them once again and hissing when he made contact, the sensations more intense than she'd ever felt before.

Finally having something to do, John took to his new 'assignment' with enthusiasm. Rubbing his fingers in slow circles over the smooth metallic joints of her spine, he skipped over his normal routine of repeating the motions with his other hand, instead deciding to meet her intensity with some of his own.

Sliding his fingers under the waistband of her panties and over the short hairs framing her sex, he was more than a little pleased with the startled exclamation his efforts garnered.

Cameron didn't know which way to move. Arching her back removed the contact on her spine, moving the other way however made her lose sensation between her legs. Not wanting to lose either, she settled for muffling the noises she was making by burying her head in the crook of his neck, gripping his shoulders to the point of the skin turning white underneath her touch.

Happy that he'd finally taken the hint, she whimpered in to the skin of his neck, her emotional state getting the better of her slightly. The initial anger about the tattoo mingled with her desire, causing her to crave the sensations John was providing, she wanted sex, and she wanted it now.

Removing his hand from beneath her panties, she did her best to jiggle them off while still lying on top of him, not wanting to lose any contact with him, even for a moment.

Picking up the less than subtle hint, he tried to keep up the motions on her spine while settling back into the pillows behind him, letting Cameron take charge for once. Threading his now free hand through her hair, he tilted her head to the side and attacked the juncture between her neck and shoulder, ignoring the pain lancing down his arm from the inhumanly strong grip on his shoulder.

Now free of the constrains of her underwear, Cameron slid forward and positioned herself to bring them together. Eyes screwing shut, her grip on his shoulder tightened as she struggled to process all the sensation, everything more intense than she'd ever felt before, every minute movement causing sensations to race through her body, the pressure on her spine only furthering her enjoyment and sending shocks of sensation careening from toes to fingertips.

This was new, this was _good_.

John hadn't exactly been sure what to expect the first time they'd been together since her breakdown, but this definitely wasn't it. He'd assumed that sleeping would have regulated her impulses, smoothed out her more jagged emotions.

She'd been so relaxed during their time together earlier that day, but everything about her was practically screaming tension, from her halting movements to the odd sounds issuing from deep within her throat, "C... Cameron? You okay?"

Snapping her eyes open, they burned blue, illuminating John and the rest of the room in a muted neon glow. Releasing a low growl, she placed both of her hands on his chest and started to pick up her pace, intent on reaching whatever release was building deep within her, something only her husband could provide, no matter how reluctant he seemed, she wasn't going to be denied.

Letting his head fall back onto the pillows, John couldn't help but feel more than a little intimidated by what he was seeing. Though they'd been together for what felt like forever, never before had he understood just how easy it was for his wife to physically dominate him.

If she didn't want him moving, he wasn't, and she was clearly enjoying herself.

Focusing her thought on what she was feeling, the sheer amount of data flowing through her chip from each and every nerve in her body was overwhelming, but in a good way, even if it was a little disconcerting.

She'd never felt anywhere near this much pleasure before, even when she'd shut down the first time she'd made love to John, she'd never experienced this much raw sensation and emotion. It was as if all her filters had been removed, like having spent your entire life seeing things in black and white alone, only to wake up one morning to be bombarded by every color in existence. Screwing her eyes shut, her brow knitting together, she tried to focus on how good it all felt, rather than the very scary thought of what could happen if she lost control...not realizing that the pressure she was placing on her husband's chest was bordering on cracking a couple of ribs.

John's fingers dug into the synthetic flesh of her lower back while he found himself gasping for breath, his chest unable to rise and fall more than a fraction of what was normally needed with a cyborg bearing down on it. Cameron's face was a confusing mass of tangled emotions above him, forcing him to wonder if even she understood what was going on in her chip.

Shaking her head wildly from side to side, Cameron's HUD started to flicker, her chip unable to cope with the data as her movements started to stutter, to slow. The rhythm she'd worked herself in to faltered, instead replaced by a jerking, almost hesitant movement on top of him.

She couldn't understand what was happening, one moment she was enjoying herself more than she ever had, and the next the sensations caught up with her, and truth be told, they were starting to frighten her. To overwhelm her. She wasn't prepared for this, her already fragile emotional center struggling to cope with what her body was telling her.

Afraid that his wife was either about to suffer another breakdown or, even worse, another overload on unprepared and newly awakened parts of her consciousness, John removed his hand from her spine, framing her face with both hands and trying to get her to focus on him, "Cameron? Hey, it's okay."

Feeling the clammy skin of his hands on her cheeks, Cameron slowly opened her eyes. Blurry and unfocused, and still with a faint glow emanating from behind them, she struggled to look at John. If she had succeeded, she would've noticed his worried expression.

All her movement had ceased, her hands had clenched into fists and from the look on her face, she was about ready to break down in to tears at any moment. When her voice finally did emerge, it was shaky, pleading, and confused. She was afraid, and she wanted her husband. "John?"

"Shhhhh," With more than a little effort, John managed to pull himself up a few inches on the pillows, unable to fight off a shiver as they stayed most intimately locked together, still framing her face gently with her hands, "Talk to me, Cameron. What's wrong?"

"I..." Was all Cameron could muster, her eyes flitting about the room wildly, herself shuddering when John moved. Eventually focusing on her husband beneath her, she looked down at the fist imprints she was leaving on his fragile chest and immediately collapsed forward at her elbows, burying her head in to his shoulder, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Wrapping his arms around his wife, John held her tightly to his chest while gently stroking her hair, trying to keep the worry he was feeling out of his voice, "You didn't do anything wrong."

As if Cameron wasn't feeling guilty enough, his soothing words drilled home her fears. No matter what she did, no matter how much she hurt him, let him down, embarrassed him, he'd always forgive and try to help her...she was a burden to him.

He shouldn't have had to put up with all of her problems, her defects, least of all trying to comfort her when she'd hurt him. Deciding she wouldn't let that continue, she wrapped her arms around him, making sure to be as gentle as possible, "I need to sleep."

The sooner she could get out of his way, the better, and this seemed to be the easiest option.

For John, that was probably the most sensible thing he'd heard all day. Ignoring the fact that they were still locked together, as well as it still being early evening and not having eaten since breakfast, he nodded against her shoulder with a reassuring smile, "Then I'm not going anywhere. Can I do anything?"

Nuzzling further in to his shoulder one last time, Cameron slid off the top of his body, groaning when they finally separated, and slumped beside him on the bed. Not bothering to look over her shoulder, she felt his arms wrap around her waist and pull her close. Usually that would've helped, but Cameron couldn't even bring herself to smile. Instead she remained motionless, eyes staring off at some point across the room. "Stay with me?"

Brushing the hair sticking to her neck behind her head, John nuzzled in as close as he could to Cameron's ear, stifling a yawn. Apparently the lack of food and his somewhat excessive workout had done more than he'd realized to wipe him out, "I had the whole night set aside for you, Cam. If you want to spend it in bed, that's fine with me."

Nodding, Cameron pulled her knees up to her chest and focused on the noise of her husband's slowing heartbeat thudding against her back. He'd be asleep soon, that was good, that was what she wanted.

"I..." John swallowed slowly, feeling lower than dirt for what had happened between them earlier and he couldn't entirely kick the feeling he'd caused her violent relapse, "I didn't hurt you... did I?"

"No, you didn't," Cameron answered with a tiny shake of her head as she closed her eyes, "Good night, John."

"O... okay." Getting the distinct impression he'd just been dismissed by a pissed off wife, he nodded into her shoulder, dropping a gentle kiss on the cool skin under his chin. "I love you."

Cameron waited for his heartbeat to settle and the small snore to emerge from his mouth as it hung open, before she opened her eyes again. She felt worse than he did about the whole situation. Now she couldn't even make love to her husband right without losing focus, as well as her tenuous grasp on her emotional control. John had always wanted her to experience human-like sensations, to embrace what he assured her were steps along her natural development. But frankly, they frightened her.  
Until a few months ago, she'd never really known fear, but now that she did... she definitely wanted to avoid the things that caused it.

Something had to change, she had to get better, for John, but also for herself. After all, as Rachel had made abundantly clear, others would be waiting, and John was hers, only hers. Even if she wasn't ready, she had to do something to prove to him and everybody else that she wasn't going to be an issue, that she was reliable, that she was worthy of being John Connor's wife.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's notes - Sorry about the extreme lengths between updates, but I hope the fact that this is nearly twice the length of my average chapter makes up for the wait. Also, before I get 30 messages about my new characters - they were an idea originally brought to my attention by my Beta, and one I decided to integrate to add a slightly more international flavor to the post J-day Resistance. I am fully aware Britain does not allow women in combat, but considering the lengths I go to ensure accuracy, I'm hoping everyone will overlook this single piece of creative license.

Speaking of the new characters, if you're wondering who was 'cast' for the parts, they've both been added to the character profile section of my author profile. Major Cole's picture has also been updated as well to more closely resemble my vision of her.

Thanks to everyone who continues to read, especially those of you who take the time to leave a review, your thoughts are always welcome and provide a lot of encouragement for continuing the story.


	32. Chapter 32

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 32/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 08/01/11  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 32 - 'Turning Point'

* * *

April 1st, 2011 (Judgment Day)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
1830hrs

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Unable to do much else, John Connor settled for slamming his head back into the reinforced wall behind him a few more times, hoping for a brief moment he'd inflict enough damage to make sense of the world.

It didn't work.

_And the day had started off so well!_ For once in his short and rather inglorious military 'career', one of John's plans had seemed to be going off entirely without a hitch - which, had he been thinking clearly, probably should have been his first clue that shit was about to hit the fan. His plans never ended up the way he imagined. Ever. In fact, he was pretty sure a walk to the bathroom these days wouldn't be complete without a Norman invasion and at least three squads of ninjas along the way.

They had arrived at the compound entirely unmolested, setting down in Perry's Black Hawks fifteen minutes before the expected arrival of the buses carrying the HVIs. Well, the people they were claiming to be HVI's, but were actually just the extended families of Perry's men and a few of his less than Ranger-looking soldiers. Details, really.

With the arrival of J-day and Skynet's ascension, global telecommunications were just as shot as had been expected, meaning their half-assed attempt to take the base without loss of life or more importantly, property, actually stood a chance in hell of succeeding. The facility was in hot standby, as it had been for years, and the staff topside had been so rattled at the sudden arrival of a full Ranger unit shoving orders issued directly by the Joint Chiefs into their faces that there had been surprisingly little argument.

Hell, a few of them had even helped unload supplies!

John and a small detachment had descended into the base to assure proper measures were being taken to prepare for the very real nuclear exchange that was about to occur while the rest of the men stripped down their birds, removed the rotors, and did everything in their power to push, pull, or drag the insanely valuable UH-60's into the tunnel behind them. The last thing Connor wanted when the ash finally cleared was to have to hoof it across open ground everywhere they went.

Any time an officer showed the slightest hint of suspicion, Perry would whip out his orders and start laying into the poor son of a bitch so hard it made even John's ass clench a little in sympathy, which was a tactic that he hadn't really considered but seemed to be pretty fucking effective.

They'd herded most of the staff in the upper levels into the mess for a briefing, which served the dual purpose of getting everyone prepared for what was about to happen and also putting the staff into a central area where they could be most easily observed and if necessary, controlled. Less than twenty of the facility's operating staff had been unaccounted for on the lower floors, so John had snatched Cole, Dooley, and Wilson and set about finding them while Perry explained to the wide-eyed occupants of the base that a few megatons of nuclear energy would be raining down on their heads within the day.

Five engineers had been doing routine maintenance on the water recycling system a floor below, and after nearly giving them a heart attack, they'd send them packing back upstairs to join the others.

Now, one thing they never teach you when you're learning to be the future leader of all mankind is how not to get carried away when everything is going right. It might not seem like an important skill, but it was something that had never really occurred to John before. He was destined to lead the Resistance, which by definition pretty much meant he'd always be outgunned, out-manned, and with his back planted firmly against the wall.

It's what he'd trained for, it's what he'd always had planted firmly in the back of his mind. So when he strolled into a situation with a better plan, a better fighting force, and a T-800 at his back... he'd gotten a little cocky.

Unfortunately, it was said T-800 that had nearly gotten him iced strolling down a corridor convinced he was God's gift to combat.

Kyle Reese had told his mother more than 20 years of real-time ago that there was no fate, but there were days John had his doubts. The line between fate and coincidence tended to become blurred, especially when it just so happened to reach up and bite you on the ass.

In 1995, MSgt Louis Hernandez had been working a security duty of a far different kind. Then, he'd been an Airman First Class in the Air Force Reserve, giving his one weekend a month and two weeks a year while splitting his time with one of the most prestigious police forces on the West Coast.

That was until he'd taken a tear-gas grenade to the spine during a terrorist assault on some tech-firm called Cyberdyne. He'd herniated two disks, cracked four ribs, and spent the next eighteen months popping Vicodine and going to rehab sessions three days a week. During that time his wife Tara had convinced him to stick with something a little safer than SWAT work and had eventually talked him into going active-duty.

Since then he'd guarded facilities from Ramstein to Nellis, as well as a few stints in the Sandbox at various FOBs. Outside of a few close calls with insurgent mortar strikes, Hernandez had managed to keep his nose clean, his head down, and all his vital areas in good working order - and he intended to keep it that way.

Which was why, the moment he'd caught sight of that same massive son-of-a-bitch marching down the hallway towards him and his men sporting nearly spotless ACU's and a Ranger tab on his left shoulder, Louis didn't even hesitate. Dropping to a knee, he leveled his sidearm and sighted down the barrel, "Do. Not. Move!"

There were a few tense moments where both sides stared at each other trying to figure out just what in the hell was going down. John, Carmack, and Richards actually glanced behind them to see if there was anyone else this guy might have been talking to, utterly convinced their rouse was foolproof. The two security men on either side of Hernandez appeared convinced their CO had taken leave of his faculties, trying to talk the man down. Cole was already swiping the safety off her M16, the hand hidden behind Connor's back snaking slowly in his direction, getting ready to grab his combat webbing and yank him into the nearest doorway the second shit went bad.

Wilson just looked like... Wilson.

"Sergeant!" Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, John took a half-step forward, careful not to raise the barrel of his carbine in the slightest, "We're here on the direct order of..."

Had John known who this man was, what he knew, and why he was having a freak-out, he probably wouldn't have stepped forward and drawn attention to himself. Or at the very least, he would have removed the nameplate sitting over his heart with 'Connor' stenciled proudly across it. As it was, he had done neither, which was why the moment Hernandez caught sight of him, all hell broke loose.

The first round flattened against John's body armor, directly over his heart, and sent him stumbling back into Cole's waiting arms. To her credit, she didn't bother to return fire, simply spinning them around so her back was to their attackers as she tried to physically shove her much larger CO back through the fire door they'd just come through, Wilson and Carmack already covering their retreat.

Shoving Darla's roaming hands away from him with a growl based more in anger at himself and his rampant stupidity than the woman's concern, John glanced around the door frame as the fire peetered out, "Report!"

"They fell back, sir." Giving the younger man a half-smile once he realized he was alright, Dooley pointed back over his shoulder, "They're holed up in that room at the end of the hall."

"Fan-fucking-tastic." Shoving himself off the wall, John trudged back up the hallway with a growing sense of irritation, "That's the only way to the lower levels. There's one way in, one way out, and no way to get around and flank them."

Flattening himself against the wall to avoid being run over by his rampaging CO, Carmack tried to look as innocent as he actually was... for once, "On the bright side, I think I hit one."

Eying the blood trail running most of the length of the hallway, Connor nodded, leveling his M4 at the reinforced doorway in front of him as he approached, shaking his head. Both Cole and Dooley recognized this side of their CO, and frankly, weren't surprised to see it appearing at this juncture.

Future or past, John had little patience for human beings not interested in ensuring their own welfare and continued survival. He'd give them a chance, explain their options clearly, but after that he washed his hands of the consequences without a backwards glance. A trait he'd learned from his mother, no doubt.

Banging on the door with the bottom of his fist, he yelled as loud as he could without screaming, "We have an Executive Order authorizing us to make this facility ready for a full evacuation of HVI's in the next three hours. You're interfering with an order penned by the Joint Chiefs and signed by the President. You have thirty seconds to open this door before I open it for you!"

A few seconds of silence followed before Hernandez's voice bellowed from the other side of the door, "You're full of shit, Connor! I remember you and your body-building friend from LA! Why don't you tell me another one?"

Rolling his eyes, John couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation considering his answer for just this kind of tactical situation had come from that very incident, glancing up at Wilson with a helpless shrug, "You ready for Plan B big guy?"

"Affirmative." Hefting the duffel off his back, Wilson set it onto the tiled floor and unzipped it, removing a preloaded MGL-140 grenade launcher, "Mission parameters?"

"Lets try to keep it non-lethal." Eying the door with a growl, John kicked it hard with a steel-toed boot, his chest still killing him after taking a 9mm slug head-on, "But if you see anything in there that can do more than scratch your finish, don't hesitate to beat some ass."

Wilson offered a small nod, already reaching for the door when Connor stopped his hand, shaking his head and deciding to give them one last try. "Okay! Lets try this again! In a little over six hours, Russian nuclear missiles will be raining all over this country, and you're standing in the way of getting innocent people loaded into a safe location!"

"If you don't open this fucking door in the next ten seconds, I'm sending in a bulletproof cyborg to skull-fuck you so hard your great-grandkids will be born with a divot in their frontal lobes!" Turning back to face his men, John couldn't help but notice the chorus of smirks coupled with nods of approval. More than a year of living with Resistance soldiers had colored his vocabulary considerably.

The only answer to John's ultimatum was the sound of filing cabinets and furniture being rearranged as the security forces attempted to fortify their position, "Well... I tried. Masks on, kids!"

Stepping back from the door, he jogged back to Cole, who was handing off gas masks to the rest of the group, meeting her pointed frown with a quirked eyebrow, "What?"

"You should go upstairs, Johnny." Motioning to the door, she handed a mask off to Carmack, "No need for you to be in the middle of this."

"Why?" John looked torn between amusement and very real resolve, "So you can kill them all? I told you - minimal casualties. We do this my way, get me?"

Maybe it was the uniform, maybe it was the unconscious authority he'd recently adopted when he spoke to his men, maybe it was just the fact that she'd been admittedly more level since she started going horizontal on a semi-regular basis again, but Darla didn't even suffer her normal hesitation before nodding crisply and handing off John's mask, "You're the General."

Chuckling to himself, Connor slipped the clear plastic faceplate down over his features, his voice coming out muffled and tinny from behind it, "According to the uniform, I'm the Captain. But I guess it's the thought that counts."

Rolling her eyes altogether too theatrically, Darla pulled her own mask down and double checked her weapon. Taking cover behind the door frame...in between John and the door, she waited for the cyborg to do his thing.

Grinning nearly ear to ear at the prospect of a little action, Dooley shouldered up next to them, "Everyone ready?"

Joining Darla in her eye-roll, John pulled the man back behind both of them, "Relax, Captain America. Wilson's got this one."

Waiting for a final nod from John, Wilson hefted his size eighteen boot up into the air. With one swift movement, he kicked the door, the metallic portal flying off it's hinges, sending it hurtling into the room, several soldiers having to duck behind their quickly assembled cover to avoid the hurtling projectile.

Stepping into the room with the kind of slow slow gait only a Terminator could manage, he methodically scanned the space for potential targets. Finding them all in amongst the filing cabinets and desks, he calculated the optimum trajectory and fired his MGL, three precise shots filling the relatively small room with stifling smoke just a few seconds later.

Glancing down at his watch with a sigh of impatience, John couldn't entirely hide his smile as he looked up at Darla from behind his mask, "How long you think we should give them?"

Cole laughed, "Can you hear coughing yet?"

Tilting his head to the side in a move eerily reminiscent of his wife, John shrugged, "All I hear is the sound of skulls bouncing off walls."

"Huh," Letting her rifle swing loose on it's strap, Darla folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the wall, "May as well wait until the cyborg finishes up, no point risking yourself."

John waited until the sound of gunshots and physical struggle in the room beyond died away before glancing around the corner, his view obscured by the thick cloud of tear gas now drifting out into the hall, "You didn't really think I was gonna sit out the war, did you?"

Shrugging, Darla rounded the corner and into the doorway, M16 swung back into action and shouldered. She spared one last glance over at her superior before stepping into the room, "Baby steps."

"Wow." Following quickly after, John made sure to keep his pace reasonable, not wanting to start off his military career by tripping over a toppled filing cabinet, "This all of them?"

"Hell yes." Keeping his eyes locked on the last soldier at his feet, Wilson's lips quirked up a moment later, "No problemo."

"Good job, buddy." Slapping the cyborg on the back, Connor couldn't help but rub it in a little, glancing at Cole pointedly, "Now, are we starting to see why I like keeping these guys around?"

Forcefully biting her tongue, Darla looked between Connor and his pet metal with a shake of her head, setting about checking the unconscious bodies behind her.

"Secure their weapons and 'escort' them back to the others." Finally locating the door leading to the lower bowels of the facility, John fired off a halfhearted wave, "I'll make sure we're good to go and meet you upstairs in fifteen."

"Sure thing, boss." Heaving one of the bodies over his shoulder, Dooley groaned in protest, nudging Darla as they exited the room, the weight difference between herself and her package meaning she was forced to drag him by his feet. "How come we get the shit assignments?"

Nudging the door open with the barrel of his M4, John stepped forward slowly into the stairwell, waiting for it to close behind him before using his free hand to lift the mask from his face.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt the still hot barrel of a 9mm pressed to the base of his skull. Hernandez had been waiting. He wasn't stupid, he knew what one of those...things, could do, and he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. "Drop, the weapon."

Letting the mask slip from his fingers with a clatter, Connor glared at the concrete wall, replaying every mistake he'd made to arrive here and idly wondering just how many of his nine lives were still intact at this point. "You know what happened to the last guy that put a gun to my head?"

Letting out a small bark of laughter, Hernandez actually found himself interested, "Yeah, what?"

"Something like this." Pivoting on his heel, John slammed the pistol into the wall with his right hand, the left jabbing directly into the man's throat, trying desperately to keep the weapon as far away from his as possible as the two struggled for leverage.

Immediately fighting back against the surprisingly strong kid in front of him, Hernandez aimed a knee at his gut, hoping to knock him off balance long enough to get his arm free. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was better than keeping this up and potentially taking a trip down the metallic stairs behind them.

Sidestepping the attack, John finally managed to knock the pistol down the stairs, pulling the now freed-up hand back and punching the soldier as hard as he could across the face, then repeating the motion another three times as anger overtook him, "I'm trying to save you, fuckhead!"

Reeling from the deceptively powerful punches, Hernandez sagged back against the wall, "Yeah? Just like the last time?"

Putting as much distance between them as the close confines of the stairwell allowed, John nodded, raising his hands in defense, "The world is ending, soldier. If you want to live, you come with me."

Holding his hand to his now bloodied mouth, Hernandez spit out a mouthful of it onto the ground, looking at the kid opposite him in disgust, "You're so full of shit."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Glancing down at the M4 laying between them, John only hesitated a moment before sprinting forward, slamming into the other man as he too made a play for the weapon, both of them bouncing off the wall as he tried to gain leverage.

Despite the kid's strength, Hernandez had a weight advantage, and he wasn't afraid to use it. Grappling with John, he tried his best to shove him back, just long enough so he could make a grab for the carbine.

"Whoa!" His back slamming into the guard rail behind him, John tried desperately to pivot them back towards the door, "If we fall, we both die!"

But it was already too late. There was too much momentum, too much weight, and neither one had their hands in a position to stop their rapid descent. Hernandez piled into him, sending them both tumbling over the guard rail.

John was aware of the feeling of wind whipping past him for just a second, followed by a sharp pain shooting through his back and skull, his helmet bouncing away as he made painful impact, and the world tumbled floor to ceiling as the bottom seemed to fall out from under it.

A blackness descended for what could have been a minute or an hour, only refocusing slightly when a familiar face appeared in his vision, "Wha... Dar..."

"Johnny? Johnny?" Holding his face steady between her hands, Darla looked down at him, more concern across her features than John had ever seen before. In another circumstance, it might have been touching.

After trying to sit up, he released a sound he'd never heard from his own lips before, pain shooting all the way from his toes to his shoulders at even the slightest movement, "Fuck! What.. what happened?"

"You fell." Glancing over at the less fortunate Sergeant, Cole grimaced when she watched him try to sit up, gently pushing him back down with a hand on his shoulder, "Don't move, alright? Just stay still. Your pack broke the fall, and your helmet kept you from cracking your skull open, but you probably did some serious damage to your back."

Letting his head flop back onto the cool concrete, John couldn't help but notice the blood pooling underneath him, wondering idly if it was from him or the unmoving soldier sprawled next to him. "Ca... Cameron."

Frowning at his words, Darla leaned in closer, "She's, she's not here, Johnny."

"Why not?" His brow scrunching up in confusion, John once again tried to force himself to a sitting position, "Need... her."

Shoving him back down to the ground more forcefully than before, Darla was worried about spinal damage after a fall like that, though the way he was moving all his limbs gave her a ray of hope to hold onto. "She's on her way in on the buses, you know that."

Whimpering in a way even the worst injuries he'd incurred had never brought about before, Connor fell back onto the floor, clutching at her hand, "Love you... Cameron... please..."

"Shhh, it's okay John." Frantically looking around, feeling helpless, Darla just wanted to make her John feel better. The kid obviously had a horrible concussion and was in considerable pain. "I'm here for you."

"Ah... AH!" Trying to roll over turned out to be an exceedingly bad idea, bringing tears to the corner of his eyes, "It hurts..."

"I told you, stay still! Don't you ever do as you're told?" Getting increasingly worried, Darla fell back to what she knew...getting angry and shouting at people.

Smiling sickly, John could feel the world slowly contracting around him, "I'm sorry, Darla... didn't mean to..."

Watching him black out beneath her was one of the hardest things Darla had ever had the misfortune of witnessing. Blind panic gripped her as she fumbled for her radio, hitting the transmit button and yelling at the top of her lungs, "Connor is down! Connor is down!"

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 26th, 2011 (5 Days Until Judgment Day)  
0851hrs

_It wasn't supposed to turn out this way._

No one would ever accuse Darla Cole of being brilliant. That particular adjective was reserved for people like Specialist Austin - men and women who would always be more comfortable staring into a microscope than a sniper's scope, and that had always suited her just fine. The downside of being that damn intelligent was too much for someone like her to handle anyways, and you didn't have to look much further than her previous example to see just what she meant by 'downside'.

There seemed to be a finite amount of space in the human mind, and the more of it that was taken up by intellect, the less remained for trivial things like 'common sense' and 'social ability.' Sure, Lucas could balance a differential equation in his head, but the guy could barely tie his own shoelaces without swallowing one, and couldn't get laid in a dime whorehouse with a hundred dollar bill hanging out of his zipper.

No, Darla was perfectly content with falling a little further towards the 'street smarts' end of that spectrum than 'book smarts'. But that didn't mean she was stupid, either. After all, when you shared a bunk with the savior of all humanity and arguably the smartest human in the last century for more than two years, some things were bound to rub off, right?

Temporal mechanics definitely fell into the book smarts category, something her John had been a lot more comfortable fathoming than she ever would be, but causality was easy enough to understand provided you had all the pieces in the chain. So it had taken her nearly three years, and countless drunken nights trying to figure out the exact moment it had all gone so very wrong but now finally, she felt she had a solid grasp of the problem.

The John she'd left behind in the future had been a broken man - barely functional and likely the most emotionally stunted human being she'd ever met. It was pretty ironic in her book, considering how most people saw him and his habits. They'd seen his distance, his womanizing, as signs of an aloof and superior intellect - the kind that could manipulate you into doing anything he wanted, and regularly did. But her John had been pretty much as far from that as was humanly possible to be.

Machines he understood, after all, it's what made him John Connor. But humans? Humans he just couldn't seem to wrap his mind around. He wasn't 'aloof', he was damn near terrified of social interaction that didn't include direct orders to a subordinate. He wasn't a 'womanizer' either, as that would imply _he_ had left the women who shared his bed.

One of the biggest secrets in the Resistance had been carried by those women, who luckily had known he was too important to be broken down by rumor and rampant speculation. John knew that something was wrong with him, he never made a secret of it, and in a way it seemed to attract a female's maternal instinct like iron to an electromagnet. They wanted to take care of him. They wanted to _fix_ him. But when they inevitably realized they couldn't, it would always end the same way - John nodding sadly, providing a cover story that made him look like the bad guy, offering to provide for any children he'd fathered, and wishing them well in their new life.

The average was about 2 years. A few had managed longer, a few for much shorter. Kate had stuck in there for nearly four years, and had never 'officially' divorced him. To John's credit, he hadn't removed the ring up to the point he had sent Darla back. Blair had barely lasted four months, and only that long because a one night stand had resulted in John's second daughter, a little firecracker he'd named Cameron.

And that was the point Cole's musings always returned to. _The metal_.

The first piece of the temporal FUBAR had been simple enough for the soldier to figure out, and by far the most obvious part of the puzzle. Connor had attached her to Reed's squad as a Corporal two weeks before taking their TDE ride. Unfortunately, the bubble techs had never sent back such a large force at the same time. The way the weaselly guy with the Coke-bottle glasses had explained it to her, each time you sent someone back, the time-line 'shifted' like a living thing and made it harder to land the next person in the same spot during the same time period. So it was decided to send all of them back in one transfer... which in hindsight probably hadn't been the Tech's brightest idea.

In the end, the bubble had barely held integrity - which for all intents and purposes meant it really hadn't. The team had been scattered both temporally and geographically, some by a few days or a few miles, others by hundreds of miles or even years. Cooper had never even shown up, leading them to wonder if he'd been blown so far off course he had been unable to, or simply died during transit. Either was a distinct possibility.

Of those who made it, Cole had been the furthest from their target destination. Two years early and nearly half a mile into the middle of Lake Superior. Which in and of itself wouldn't have been that bad, had she not been naked, and had it not been early April.

So after an invigorating swim and fighting off an acute case of almost-hypothermia, Darla had managed to get her bearings, and that's when she started to get pissed off. Connor had planned their insertion for a number of reasons, but one of the most important were the demands of her mission. She was two months shy of her twenty-fourth birthday, and had she landed in the proper time and place, Johnny-boy would have been nineteen. Not ideal, but close enough that it wouldn't have raised eyebrows when she attempted to do her job. Instead, when she'd finally tracked him down in SoCal she'd been confronted with a sixteen year old kid who didn't seem to know his ass from a hole in the ground. And she wasn't even going to _mention_ the haircut.

_Blech_.

Stranded years off course, alone, and unable to make contact with anyone else from her team, Darla had fallen back on her training and shifted into OAE mode. She'd Observed. She'd Assessed. And she'd waited for the moment when she would finally be able to Execute her mission.

And it was during the course of those first few months she'd committed her one truly unforgivable sin. The worst part? She hadn't even realized what she'd done until years later. Like the majority of history's most unforgivable mistakes, she'd had the best of intentions when committing it. Not that it mattered in the end, as she well knew, the results were the same no matter what you had meant to happen.

John was living with his cyborg protector, Lieutenant Reese, and Sarah fucking Connor, so just waltzing up and introducing herself had seemed a bad idea. Besides, as much as she loved the man she left behind in the future, this kid wasn't even close yet, and she wasn't in a hurry to scare him off. In her line of work, you generally only got one chance to execute your mission, and she absolutely refused to fuck this one up. So she'd landed a job serving drinks at a shitty local bar, which left her days and a few nights a week pretty open to keep an eye on her target, if only in an attempt to keep him as far from trouble as possible until the right moment presented itself.

Connor had been as clear as he usually was when telling her what to expect when she arrived, which frankly, was about as cloudy as the water/bleach mixture she used to scrub down the tables every night at her job. He never told Darla her name, he may have been too drunk to remember at the time - only that she'd 'left him alone... broken, and alone.' In a temporal fuckup that probably only John himself understood, he'd gone storming into the future to save some girl, returning a few weeks later (though it had been nearly two and a half years from his point of view) with nothing but new scars to show for his trouble. A few months later his mother's health had deteriorated rapidly, and John had been left alone to wait for the end of the world.

The night John had given her her mission had hurt in more ways than one. It had taken more than a little convincing for Darla to agree to return in the first place, as she hadn't wanted to leave the General for anyone, even a younger version of himself. But as always, the man had made a damn compelling point. The things she wanted, the ones he couldn't provide, this kid might be able to, if she could bring him back from the brink before he fell permanently into the abyss. Stability, a real marriage, children. There were a lot worse jobs in this universe than being the wife of the man who saved humanity, especially if he was actually capable of loving you back, something her John had never been able to do.

But what had hurt the most? The knowledge that he hadn't always been this way. He hadn't always been a hollow shell, afraid to possess, let alone expose, his emotions to others, terrified of growing attached to anyone with even more than a passing affection. He had loved some woman so much that losing her had destroyed him. So much so, that he'd refused to expose himself to that pain ever again.

In the end, it had been her own love for him that had convinced her to put aside her doubts and embrace her last mission for the General. But it hadn't taken long for it all to go to hell.

She'd never know what had possessed her to follow Derek that day, when she'd never bothered to tail the soldier in the past. The only excuse she could come up with was she couldn't stand watching Johnny getting all lovey-dovey with the new blond who had been hanging around the Connor house the last few weeks and was _so_ clearly not his type.

But she had finally made contact with a member of her team a few days prior, and decided to have Carmack watch the house while she trailed Reese to find out just where in the fuck he was disappearing to. What she'd found had not improved her mood in the slightest.

She could have forgiven Reese for keeping his midnight booty calls secret, as she was hardly one to judge, having spent two years bunking with an ostensibely 'married' man. She could have even forgiven him for keeping secrets from John that could have brought danger into the young savior's life - though she had killed for far less in the future. But she couldn't forgive a normally rational and level-headed soldier for trusting someone so unquestionably fucked in the brainpan.

Darla had seen through Jesse's manipulations almost instantly, a few days of subtle surveillance had exposed the woman's attempts to manipulate a man she considered to belong to her, though finding out _why_ had proven slightly more difficult... and enjoyable for the Operator. For all her bullshit and eyelash-batting, Florez had proven surprisingly difficult to break, but hand to hand fighting techniques weren't the only thing Connor's elite had learned from Skynet, and eventually, painfully, she'd gotten to the truth.

Ironically, they were working in a parallel vein, both trying to keep John human, both trying to prevent him from becoming the heartless automaton that apparently had existed in both of their timelines. The difference though, and the one that cost Florez her life, was that Darla's mission had been sanctioned by the boss, and the other woman's hadn't. That was a distinction that carried a stiff penalty in Cole's line of work.

It was impossible to get all the blood out of the hotel room, so she'd smashed some of the furniture, stolen the woman's guns and money, and taken pains to cover her tracks.

Reese had never found the body.

Despite what people tended to think of her and her brethren, Darla wasn't entirely without mercy. Riley had been a pawn, and all the girl was guilty of was trying to find a better life. That didn't mean she could be allowed to potentially fuck up John's destiny though, so Cole... took steps.

She'd handed off a warning along with Florez's cash reserves and the girl had made the only smart decision of her life up to that point, a bullshit story about her foster parents moving and cutting ties with her 'assignment'.

In an irony that would only become apparent later, Darla had patted herself on the back and congratulated herself for setting Connor back on the path to future glory. It was a bitter pill to swallow when she'd finally realized the truth, but for the moment she was able to sleep soundly, believing she'd completed her mission.

But as she observed her charge day after day, night after night, she'd been forced to acknowledge the truth... she'd fucked up.

The 'woman' who had broken his heart, the one who had left him alone in the past, was beside him every hour of the day. John Connor, the man she owed her life to, the man her heart belonged to, was in love with a fucking machine. The smile on his face while he corrected one of her mistakes, the way he held her while she cried... yeah, a _machine _crying her eyes out... a scene that would leave Darla with many a sleepless night, the way he always took the time to explain what she was feeling, despite her inability to truly understand. All of it combined had painted a picture the Operator wasn't in the least comfortable with.

So, despite his age, despite his immaturity, the fact she had felt her opportunity slipping away meant that Darla had made her move. It wasn't smooth, it wasn't graceful, but it was the best she could come up with at the time.

Derek had taken him to a baseball game, a seemingly perfect chance to make her entrance - there were thousands of people around to keep the potential for violence to a minimum, her target was relaxed and enjoying himself, and his security had been chugging beer for most of the afternoon.

It hadn't gone well.

Whether it was the age difference or simply who and what she was, John had seemed instantly intimidated by her, and Derek instantly suspicious despite the fact Darla had apparently been prominent in his time-line as well. The real fun had started when they arrived back at the Connor house, though. The recently emotionally unstable cyborg had slammed her into a wall and interrogated her for the better part of an hour under Sarah's hawk-like gaze, only releasing the woman when she was absolutely sure her story checked out.

Over the next few weeks they'd reassembled their team, their target arrival date having been two weeks before the day she'd revealed herself, and made the decision to move to a more remote environment. Cole had tried on more than one occasion to get John to herself, to work the magic she knew she possessed, but the metal had always been there, always glaring, and always between her and the future General.

But time had passed, weeks becoming months, then finally a year, and with every day it had become more and more clear that the Operator had changed the future with her actions, and it hadn't been for the better.

The cyborg had never disappeared into the future, John had never known the pain of losing her, and it's impossible to pick up the pieces when an object remains unbroken. For months she'd stayed frozen in indecision, waiting for the machine to run off so she could take her rightful place at Connor's side. When it had never happened, she'd been forced to resort to more direct measures.

Regular trips in for breakfast in her underwear certainly seemed to be helping her case, the teenager following her every move with a metaphoric drool puddle forming under him at the table. Workouts, hand-to-hand training, knife-work, anything to get him close and comfortable in her presence had found their way into her daily routines.

But in the end, he'd never strayed. The night of the party, Darla's drunken pass had been bred more of desperation than anything else, having seen the light in his eyes when he looked at the cyborg only growing in intensity. And of course, even that had garnered nothing but embarrassment and rejection.

So here she was, lying on her cot feeling sorry for herself, knowing she had failed her mission, knowing beyond a doubt she had failed her General. If only she had...

"Ugh... what time is it?"

The voice behind her, the soft breath on her neck, caused Cole's mood to only get worse, forcing the woman to shove down the urge to launch an elbow backwards as she checked the clock on the bedside table, "1000 hours. You've been asleep for nearly a fucking hour."

Flopping onto his back with a groan, Derek nearly fell off the narrow bed before he caught himself, scrubbing at his eyes, "Um... sorry?"

"You should be." Darla rolled her eyes, staring hard at the wall, "I didn't invite you to play house, and I don't want people seeing you here."

Reese snorted into her shoulder, resting a hand on her hip beneath the blankets, "What, you ashamed of me now?"

"Something like that." Shoving the hand off without bothering to look at the man, she closed her eyes and snuggled back into her pillow, determined to enjoy one of her last days off before the end of the world now that she'd relieved some pent-up stress, "You can go now."

Pausing for only a moment before kicking his feet over the edge, Derek scrubbed his stubble with a glare towards the wall, "You could at least drop a 'thank you'."

Darla just snorted, "It wasn't _that_ good."

"Fuck you too." Snagging his fatigues from the floor, the older man pulled them on while trying to keep his temper in check. She had certainly seemed to be enjoying his attentions an hour ago, but the woman's mood swings were really starting to wear on his nerves.

Yawning into her pillow, Darla tossed a lazy wave in the soldier's direction, "Already did that... so you can go already. Make sure to take your shit, too. This ain't a lost and found."

Grumbling the entire way, Reese gathered his clothes and suited up for the day, storming down the stairs and off to a much-needed breakfast, leaving Cole to her bed and her thoughts. Pulling her blankets up over her shoulder in an effort to ward off the Colorado chill quickly working it's way in now that her space heater had left, she closed her eyes and just tried to forget about all the fuckups that had brought her to this point.

She also knew, it wouldn't work.

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 26th, 2011 (5 Days Until Judgment Day)  
1039hrs

"Hey, Connor!"

"We've got a problem, Boss!"

"I just need two minutes!"

John had barely cleared the edge of the dense woods surrounding the compound when the mob descended on him in full force, sidling up beside him and vying like eager children for a parent's undivided attention. He should have expected it, considering how much time he'd spent isolated up in the house with Cameron in the past week and just how many projects he'd relegated to the back burner, but with Cameron running into town for one last 'supply run', which he'd learned long ago was Cameron-speak for clothes shopping, he was planning on using the rare opportunity to take care of some unfinished business.

Still, it was probably better not to rock the boat any more than it already had been, so he paused mid-stride and held up both palms in clear surrender, "Dial it down! I'll point, you talk. Everyone got it?"

Accepting the chorus of nods around the semi-circle with a roll of his eyes, he fired a pointer finger off at the far left of the group, Dooley grinning like a ten year old at finally being acknowledged, "Go."

"I finished up with the medical supplies this morning," Carmack glanced down at the tops of his boots, signaling to John this request was more than likely coming from his 'better half' than the soldier himself, "That was the last of the prep-work you'd assigned me, and I was... well, _we _were kinda hoping that we could hit the bar one last time before..."

"Done." Not wanting to waste more time on this impromptu meeting than was absolutely necessary, the younger man shooed him towards the barracks with in impatient hand, "Anyone who's finished up can tag along as far as I'm concerned. But remember the rules, and I swear if you get arrested you're on your own for J-day. Clear?"

"Sure thing, Boss!" Dooley wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, already jogging for the barracks with McGhee in tow, a night of drunken debauchery waiting to be had as soon as he could grab Coons and a shower. At least John hoped the man was going to shower - one thing his future soldiers had difficulty adjusting to when they arrived in the past were hygiene standards... something he'd tried to drill into their skulls with admittedly mixed results.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh, John held out his hand towards an eagerly waiting Private O'Brien, "Gimmie a smoke and go."

Meeting his impatient look with one of her own, the sniper slapped an entire pack of Marlboros into her superior's palm and leaned in to light one for him before continuing, "The stuff you were waiting for arrived this morning, sir. What do you want us to do with it?"

"Leave it where it is." Connor shrugged impatiently, "Everyone who needs their gear can swing by and pick it up for themselves. It literally has their fucking name on it. Anything else?"

"Not right now." Smiling nearly ear to ear at the realization she had no more work, Amanda rocked back and forth between the balls of her feet and her heels, "Sooooo..."

"Go on." Smirking, he rolled his eyes as he stepped past her and continued on his way to the barracks, "Go get drunk!"

"Ya know," Falling into step beside her commanding officer with a new spring to her stride, the sniper eyed him with a tilt of her head, "You are waaaaaay cooler than the old Connor. You should try to hold on to that."

Looking oddly serious considering the joking nature of the comment, John held the door open for her before stepping in behind, "I'm working on it, Private."

Returning the soldier's wave as she hustled up the stairs, he made his way over to the target of his search with a shake of his head, leaning against the back of the couch to her left, "Good movie?"

"Fucking boring." Tossing her arms over the back of the couch, Darla rolled her head back until she could meet his eyes, "Vin Diesel stealing cars? That I can buy. But being some kind of snowboarding super spy? Come on. We are so much more complicated than that muscle head will ever be."

"That's what you get for digging into Carmack's DVD stash." Shrugging, John rested his chin on his hand, eying the TV as yet another car exploded, "You aren't exactly gonna stumble across Shakespear."

Picking up the remote with a very Cole-like snort, she switched it over to a documentary on the History Channel, then a reality show, then simply gave up and shut the damn thing off. "Of all the things I'll miss during the war? This crap... not so much."

John rolled his eyes as he leaned back from the couch, the cuts and bruises still dotting his body from the botched Armenian job still hurting more than he wanted to let on, "I heard you wanted to see me?"

"Oh!" Slapping her thighs in a rare show of enthusiasm, Darla hustled over to a stack of boxes in the corner, "Perry finally came through! Everything we asked for, though we still need to do a little sewing before we'll pass inspection."

"I swear, the things that get you excited..." At the older woman's mock glare, he tossed his hands up in surrender, "Fine. I guess it is pretty cool we'll finally look like soldiers. Does everyone know how to wear their gear? We'll be entering a military facility, if we screw up something simple they'll know."

"Uh... sure." Darla just mumbled something noncommittal about Austin and Wikipedia as she removed her battered K-BAR and started tearing through cardboard like a kid on Christmas, "We'll be fine. Promise, boss."

"I'll make sure and have Perry look everyone over before we head to Cheyenne." Sidling up behind her, John was startled when Cole let out a scoff of indignation, holding an ABDU jacket up in front of his face.

"That little _prick!"_Letting out a sharp huff of annoyance, Darla looked positively murderous, "Would you look at this? He made you a fucking Captain!"

Smirking, John couldn't say he didn't appreciate her show of support, but obviously his second in command hadn't thought things through, "I'm nineteen, Darla. Sure, the scars add a little to my appearance, but passing for anything more than a Captain is stretching it. Besides, I didn't exactly expect to start out a General."

Cole looked crestfallen, "What do you mean? You _are_ the General."

"I'm John Connor." Taking the jacket from her hands, he eyed the thing with a small smile. For the first time in most of his life he'd be walking through the world with his real name proudly stenciled across his breast. No more John Baum. He could finally be John Connor, "Not the General. You're not born with a rank and people following you. I'll earn it like everyone else."

"And a lot of people will die while you do." Shaking her head, the Major's disgust was clear for all to see, "This isn't right."

"I'll command the bunker." Trying to appease her, if only a little, John laid a hand on her shoulder, "I'll lead the cell. But as far as the Resistance? People who try to seize power only manage it by butchering their opponents. I won't be that guy. Understood?"

Narrowing her eyes, Darla finally relented, a sigh passing her lips, "If you say so."

Pulling the jacket on over his shirt, Connor tried to straighten it out from the bottom, a few prominent wrinkles hindering his progress, "So, think I can pass as a Ranger?"

Cole reached into the box with a smirk, pulling out a smaller container and fishing through it for a moment before removing a pair of dog tags and draping them over his neck, "You can pass for what you are, Johnny. And the sooner people realize that... the more lives we'll save."

* * *

Connor Compound  
Pueblo, Colorado  
March 27th, 2011 (4 Days Until Judgment Day)  
2241hrs

Had anyone run into him , carrying the 'gifts' he had confiscated from a few of the soldiers out hopefully _not_ blowing up a large portion of Colorado on their last furlough before J-day, he might just have died of embarrasment. Which was why he was uncharacteristically grateful that no one seemed to be up and about as he backed into his bedroom with a wide smile, "Cam? You up?"

"You're home?" Despite her decidedly sulky attitude up until that point, Cameron's eyes lit up when she saw him backing into their room...before 2100hrs. "What are you doing here?"

"Um..." Holding the two bottles up with a smirk, John glanced around the room theatrically, "This _is_ our bedroom, isn't it?"

"Oh, of course." Looking around a little sheepishly, Cameron shuffled further onto her side of the bed, patting the spot beside her with a generous smile, "What are those for?"

Toeing off his boots with a small groan, he set the smaller plastic bottle down onto the dresser along with the glasses, trying to peal back the tinfoil around the mouth of the champagne with mixed success, "You have no idea what today is, do you?"

"It's tuesday," Cameron answered with a quizzical look, trying to peer over his shoulder, "March twenty-seventh, two thousand and..."

"Well, yeah." Unable to suppress a smile at how damn cute Cameron could be sometimes, he finally managed to pop the cork free, only sloshing a little over his knuckles in the process before pouring them both a glass, "But it's also our two week anniversary."

Despite John's obviously good-natured attitude, Cameron couldn't keep the frown off her face, fighting the urge to lay her fingertips on his head to check for concussion, "We've been together for two months, one week, 3 days and..."

"Our two week _wedding_ anniversary." Chuckling to himself, John turned around and offered his wife her glass, "It might seem silly, but we'll be busy in the bunker and I don't know when we'll get the chance to celebrate like this again."

Gingerly taking the glass from his hand, Cameron inadvertently glanced down at her wedding ring, sparkling even brighter than the champaigne. Despite what hadn't been turning out to be a good day, Cameron felt better than she had in a while. "Thank you John...happy anniversary."

Leaning in to drop a gentle kiss on her lips, John pulled back with a wide smile, clinking his glass into hers before draining his own. He may be the future leader of man, but he was still a nineteen year old. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart," pausing for a moment to consider his words, Cameron smiled again, taking a more ladylike sip of her bubbly. Finding the sensations intriguing to say the least, she clapped her lips together a couple of times, "I like that."

Refilling his glass, John shrugged out of his sweatshirt, tossing it over the back of his computer chair and tucking his new dogtags back into his tank. "Really? We finally found a petname you're okay with?"

"Well it's better than 'Princess', or something equally as cute." Positioning herself to John's side, she leaned against him, glass held out in front of them, one hand running through the short hairs at the back of his head. "What is customary for anniversary celebrations? I've never gone through this ritual before."

"Well considering you'd have to be married, I'm glad you haven't." Reaching up and brushing a kiss over her lips, he smiled at the fruity taste of the champagne mixed with Cameron's own distinct flavor, "I'm not really sure what's 'customary'. But Rachel gave me an idea I think you'll like."

"Oh, you talked to Rachel?" Slightly intrigued as to why she hadn't seen her friend the whole day, Cameorn took another sip of her champagne, finding the taste to be altogether pleasant..._no wonder that bottle was so expensive_.

"I did." Draining his glass and setting it down on the bedside table, John snuggled a little closer, "She thought that since you liked our 'pamper Cameron day' so much, you might just enjoy another of her favorite girly activities."

"Rachel has a lot of favorite girly activities." Smiling at the memory of one of those activities, Cameron glanced down at her still purple nails, "Which one are you referring to?"

Walking over to the dresser and forgoing the idea of a glass, her husband just took a long swig from the bottle, picking up the smaller plastic container and tossing it onto the covers beside her with an eyebrow waggle.

"Baby oil?" Picking the bottle up with a curious tilt of her head, Cameron looked up at her John, once again wondering if he'd had some sort of injury she wasn't aware of. "I'm not a baby, and neither are you."

"Ever heard of a full-body massage?" Taking another pull from the bottle he wandered over towards the bed, "You've been... tense, lately. And while I know you don't have muscles or anything, you do find my touch soothing, right?"

"Of course, but I don't know what good it will do. Like you say, I have no muscles for you to work on." Frowning down at the bottle, Cameron appreciated the gesture, she really did. But she couldn't quite see what the point of this was.

"You wouldn't think me washing your hair would help you sleep either, would you?" Reaching up and framing her face with his hand, John brushed a few stray hairs out of her eyes, "Lets face it, sweetheart. For a machine, you're pretty damn tactile."

Leaning into his touch, Cameorn's eyes drooped just a fraction, giving John all the evidence he needed to know this was right. "Very well...what do I have to do?"

"Um..." John didn't really know how to say this without it coming off as sexual, "You should probably change into something... removable. Your robe?"

Tilting her head in that charming way of hers, John should've known that was a dumb suggestion to such a black and white cyborg. "Shouldn't I just take my clothes off?"

"I didn't want you to think this was about sex." Despite months of a sexual relationship with his wife, she could still bring out a blush in him, "It's about relaxing you. Making you feel good."

"Oh... okay then, give me a moment." Sliding, she had to admit reluctantly, off the bed Cameron made her way over to the closet to retreive her robe. Giving John one final smile, she departed into the bathroom to change.

Taking a few deep breaths to try and remind himself this wasn't about him, but about helping Cameron out of her funk, John took a few more swigs off the bottle, enjoying the light feeling slowly spreading through his body. Unbuttoning his fatigues, he slipped them off and lounged on the bed in his tank and boxers, waiting for his wife to return.

Satisfied with her appearance, Cameron stepped out of the bathroom and switched off the light. Now dressed in only her purple robe, she made her way over to the bed, tucking her leg beneath her as she sat down. "What now?"

Pausing for a moment, John seemed to forget what he was there for, smiling a big, goofy smile, "Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?"

"Actually, no... you haven't." Cameron answered truthfully. At seeing John's hurt face though, she quickly amended her statement, "But you can tell me plenty of times tonight to make up for it if you'd like."

"If I had half a brain I'd tell you every day." Sighing, he crawled behind her and settled in, brushing her hair away from her neck and over a shoulder, "Pull your robe down, sweetheart."

Smiling once again at the use of her new pet name, Cameorn did as instructed, looking over her shoulder the whole time as she slid the flimsy silk down her arms, bunching it up at her waist. Gifting him a smile, she leaned back towards him slightly, just enough to let her hair tickle his arms.

Pouring a little of the oil into his palm, John rubbed his hands together vigorously for a few seconds before setting them down on her narrow shoulders. Realizing a real massage would be next to useless on a machine, he settled for gently gliding his hands over the synthetic flesh, rubbing in small, gentle circles, "Might be a little cold."

Trying not to shiver, Cameron couldn't say the found the scent unpleasant. Plus, she always enjoyed when John touched her, even if his hands were cold. "That does feel nice."

After spending a few minutes just running up and down her neck and over her shoulders, he moved down to her arms, then back up and started working where her shoulder blades would have been had she been human, all the while carefully avoiding contact with her super-sensitive spine, "Just relax."

Taking his advice, Cameron allowed her eyes to drift closed as she focused on the sensations. While they weren't exactly over stimulating, they were pleasant. She let out a low moan of approval, just to let him know he was doing well.

Smiling, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, scooting back out of the way, "Why don't you lay down on your stomach so I can get to the rest of you?"

Before he had a chance to get too far away, Cameron turned around and dropped a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. It was mostly by way of thanks. She wasn't expecting him to even be home before she slept, never mind have a celebration and a massage planned. Smiling at his dumbstruck expression, she did as instructed and lay down flat, folding her arms beneath her chin.

Slowly pulling her robe free and laying it down beside her, he dribbled some baby oil along her back, chuckling a little at her reaching, "Feel weird?"

"It's cold," Squirming when the cold liquid ran down the culvert created by her spine, Cameorn couldn't suppress a small giggle at the sensation, followed by a soft groan when he laid his hands on her again, instantly warming up the fluid.

Still being very careful to avoid her spine, John ran his hands down both sides of her back, rubbing the oil into her synthetic flesh in small, roaming circles. "I'm sorry I haven't been a better husband... I should be doing things like this more often. We just got married."

"You've been busy." Despite her troubles, Cameron did understand that he had a lot to do. Her husband was after all the leader of all humanity. But still, she did feel more than a little neglected, "But this is nice...thank you, husband."

"What else would you like to do?" Running his hands down, he drifted them lightly over the small of her back, then over the gentle curve of her backside, smiling when she let out a tiny noise, moving on quickly to her thighs where he resumed drawing idle patterns, "If you had the choice?"

Groaning in appreciation, Cameron tried not to squirm under his touch. "I like spending time with you. We haven't talked for more than a few minutes in over a week."

"That needs to change." Feeling more than a little guilty, John worked his way slowly down her long, toned legs, "Maybe we should start setting aside a meal every day. One time that no matter what, we always spend it together."

Smiling when his fingers tickled the sensitive flesh at the back of her knee, Cameron found herself 'relaxing' fully, her head sagging against her arms properly, "I'd like that. Even when we're in the bunker?"

"Especially when we're in the bunker." Finishing up, John crawled back up the bed and rested his head on a raised hand, drifting the fingers of his other one along her back drawing small designs, "I'm always in a shit mood when I wake up, and I may have to work late. Lunch?"

Turning her head to face him, Cameron cracked open her eyes just a fraction to look at him, smiling when she saw how relaxed he himself looked. "Lunch sounds sufficient...my spine could use some attention."

Smirking a little, he reached down and lightly pinched her bottom, "I thought you wanted to relax?"

Head sagging to her arms again, Cameron smiled a tired smile, not even flinching when he pinched her. "I do...but I've missed you touching me."

Nodding slowly, he let his fingers drift to the side a few inches, gently running them up and down the lower part of her spinal cord, not putting any pressure on it at all, "All you ever have to do is ask."

"You haven't seemed interested for a while." Doing her best to shrug, despite her natural reaction to tense up when he did that to her spine, Cameron tried not to sound bitter about it. In truth she still wasn't sure she was ready, but either way, his touch felt good.

"I'm always interested." Smiling lazily, John leaned down and dropped a kiss on her lips, still tickling along her back, "You know that. I just don't want to pressure you."

"I'm your wife, you don't have to pressure me. I love you." Smiling, she closed her eyes again, simply enjoying the feel of his firm hands and the smell of the oil. It wasn't quite as nice as her shampoo, but it was still pleasant.

"I just..." Flopping onto his back, he stretched for a long moment trying to work his own kinks out, "I know about my reputation. I know how people see me... I don't want you thinking you have to give yourself to me daily for me to be happy."

Sensing another of John's fatal flaws - comparing himself to future John - Cameron slowly slid her body on top of his. It took a monumental effort on her part, but it was immediately worth it when she kissed him softly on the lips. Taking more than a little delight in feeling his body sag beneath her, she took great comfort in knowing she had that kind of effect on him.

Letting slip a groan low in his throat, John wound his fingers into her hair, smiling against her lips, "You're getting oil on me."

Pulling back to look at her sometimes dumb human, Cameron really was starting to worry about his sanity, "Would you like me to stop?"

"No... just joking." Chuckling at the way his wife's nose crinkled in response, he kissed the very tip of it, "You really don't get my humor sometimes."

"Sometimes you're complicated." Leaning in again, she kissed him, harder this time, her tongue forcing it's way into his mouth, groaning down his throat. Eventually she pulled back when he started getting a little breathless, "Sometimes you aren't."

"Almost never when it comes to you." After almost a week without this, John's body was going into overdrive, his pupils contracted to pinpricks and his breath coming in shallow gasps, "If Skynet knew me half as well... we'd be fucked."

"Skynet will never get close to you." Ducking down, Cameron ghosted her tongue over the slightly sweaty skin of his neck, smiling when he shivered in response, "Not as long as I'm here."

Mirroring her earlier responses, John's head collapsed back onto the pillow, eyes closing, "Feels good..."

Content to do a little exploration, Cameron licked and sucked her way across the expanse of skin, the lower reaches of his stubble ticking her nose as she went. She'd mapped almost every inch of John's body in the short time since they'd been together, but she had a feeling she'd never get tired of doing this, she'd never tire of the noises he made when she was doing it...she'd never tire of him.

Now, John might have been born with the innate ability to lead the human race to ultimate victory over a super-intelligent machine consciousness, to command men in battle, and to generally kick the ass of anything with more processing power than a pocket calculator, but having a stark-naked and still slightly oily Cameron Connor nibbling away on his neck brought his brain to a rather spectacular screeching halt.

Skynet really had chosen the perfect weapon to try and kill him, and he was suddenly insanely grateful that she was on his side, "Having... fun... are you?"

Letting out what could only be described as a contented little growl, Cameron worked her way lower, nibbling along his shoulder, her nails dragging down his chest. "I've...missed you."

"Mmmm... missed you too." He stopped her for a moment, ignoring her more-than-slightly-irritated look long enough to pull his tank up over his head, cringing a little when one of the larger bruises on his shoulder screamed at him in protest. It probably hadn't been the best idea to get back into hand-to-hand so quickly after nearly being beaten to death.

While, rather impatiently, waiting for him to settle back down, Cameron took a moment to scan the bruises dotting his torso, cringing with every one. It wasn't that she liked seeing him this way, but it did bring her a strange sense of pride in knowing that after all they'd been through, her husband still made time for her, no matter what, "Thank you for the massage. It was...pleasant."

"I don't get many opportunities to take care of you." Reaching up, he brushed a clump of hair back behind her ear in the way that always seemed to bring a smile to his face, "Three years... three years you protected me. I owe you a lot more than a massage."

Smiling an appreciative smile that held a lot more mischief than a cyborg should've been capable of, Cameron rolled them over so that John was on top, in a position to let him do most of the work. Wrapping her arms around his back, she lazily drifted her fingertips up and down his spine, content to let him lead, "When we're in the bunker, will we still...sleep together? I know you'll be busy, you may not be able to come home every night."

Despite the otherwise playful mood, John couldn't help a small frown, "You still can't sleep without me, can you?"

Getting a small frown herself, Cameron shook her head. "No, I'm sorry but I can't. I find it...disconcerting when you're not there. I have...bad dreams."

"You don't have to be sorry." Leaning down and dropping a gentle kiss on her lips, he chuckled a little when she shivered at the feeling of his dog tags dragging along the skin of her chest, "I'll see what I can do about getting a cot in my office, or a couch or something. That help?"

Smiling a genuinely grateful smile, Cameron idly took hold of the metal tickling her skin. Curiously tilting her head, she brought them up to her lips and dropped a soft kiss on them, all the time keeping her eyes on his. "I love you."

"I love you too." But John's eyes didn't hold nearly the same look as his wife's. He looked tired, and more than a little lost, "I need to know something."

"What is it?" Sensing his apprehension, Cameron laid her palm on his cheek, idly stroking his sideboards while she waited for him, "Anything."

"What... what was he like?" Frowning, John tried to focus on the reassuring feeling of Cameron's touch, "I know about the women. I know about the rumors... but really, what was he like? As a person?"

"John, maybe you shouldn't be thinking about this...you're not him." Keeping up her reassuring touch, Cameron tried to ignore the way his heart started picking up pace whenever he talked about the General.

"You can't avoid a trap you can't see." He shook his head, jaw tightening, "I can't avoid becoming a man I don't know. You do... and he scares you. I can see it in your eyes when I remind you of him."

John looked physically pained at the memory playing through his mind, "Cameron... the first time you saw me in my new uniform you looked like you were going to cry."

"It, it was nothing. I was just still a little unnerved from going to the mall with Rachel." Trying her best to sound convincing, Cameron knew solely from John's expression that he didn't believe her, adding, "It was the first time I'd been around that many strangers since my... breakdown."

The truth was that seeing him in his uniform did scare her. He looked so much like that man that it sent her emotions spiraling. She knew he was still her John - her loyal, loving, doting John. But just seeing him looking like the General did have her on the verge of tears, thoughts of how she'd failed him flashing through her mind.

"I used to think you didn't want me to be him because you thought you'd lose me." Trying to calm her down, John propped himself on an elbow beside her, resuming his earlier habit of drawing idle patterns on her stomach, "But it's more than that. You're afraid of him. Why?"

"I'm not afraid of him..." Slowly fiddling with his dog tags, her vision remained oddly fixated on the 'Connor' indented into the shiny metallic oval. "I'm afraid of you becoming him."

"You don't like him, Rachel doesn't like him..." John sighed, looking torn between frustration and depression, "Everyone else seems to think he was some kind of God. Which is it, Cameron?"

Frowning that her words didn't seem to be having the desired effect, Cameron fell back to what she knew relaxed her John, leaning forward and planting a soft, slow kiss on his lips. Pushing him back flat against the bed, she swung a leg over his hips and framed his face with her hands as she kissed, hoping to at least take his mind off the dark thoughts he was having.

After simply enjoying her touch for a few minutes, Cameron could see the tears in the corners of his eyes when she pulled back, her John looking more distraught than she'd seen him in some time. One thing she failed to take into account sometimes was the fact that no one was more afraid of John becoming that man than John himself. Not because he was a killer. Not because he was a heartless shell. But because he knew it would destroy _her_, and her John would rather die than cause her that much pain.

Deciding enough was enough, Cameron couldn't take seeing her John looking like this any more. Kissing him again, harder this time, she worked her hand lower in between them, hoping to get some sort of reaction from him.

John gasped against her lips, instinctively bucking up against her, his heart nearly hammering it's way out of his chest, "C... Cameron?"

Ignoring his words, determined to bring him out of his funk, Cameron kept up her frantic pace, kissing every inch of skin she could find, hands roaming freely over his body, the pace and excitement starting to build when she felt him responding under her touch.

Smiling when he finally got the message, John grabbed her shoulders and rolled them over, immediately returning the favor by leaving a hot trail of kisses along the curve of her jaw and down her neck, "We'll talk... in... the morning."

Barely registering his words, only the fact that he'd started responding in kind, Cameron carried on, wanting to let him know just how much she loved him by touch alone. Sliding her fingers into the hem of his boxers, she quickly pulled them down his legs, tossing them over to the other side of the room. Crawling back up his body, she resumed kissing him, fingers threading in his hair, down the back of his head, over his chest, anywhere she could fins to extend his pleasure.

Unable to do much else with an eager cyborg going full-tilt, her husband laid back and tried to keep up the pace, running his hands over her shoulders and down her back, fingers dancing along the edges of her spine. John would never tire of the soft noises she made every time he made contact with that one special spot at the very bottom.

Nibbling along his lip, Cameron pulled back, still with his skin latched between her teeth, the very corner of her own lips quirking upward when he groaned in response. However she herself wasn't immune to the touches and efforts of her lover. Every time he ghosted near her spine, she felt her body shivering in anticipation and delight.

Leaning up to kiss her hungrily, John finally gave in and moved on to her spine in earnest, massaging the bundle of incredibly sensitive synthetic nerves expertly, having long ago learned exactly how his wife liked to be touched. "Happy... anniversary."

Shuddering, Cameron sagged against his body, letting all her weight rest on him, whimpering softly when he started his ministrations. Everything up until now she'd been able to handle, but this was a little...overwhelming. It had been so long since she'd been touched this way, and she couldn't help but feel apprehensive about it, despite how much pleasure she was taking from it.

Smiling widely at the sounds drifting from his wife's lips, John nibbled along the shell of her ear, then back to her lips, "Ready?"

Hesitating noticeably, Cameron then nodded shakily against his cheek. She was convinced she could handle this. She was convinced this wouldn't be a repeat of the last time. She... hoped that if she kept telling herself that it would suddenly become the truth.

Intensely aware of what had happened the last time he'd ignored Cameron's reluctance, John pulled back as far as he could with a bed beneath him, "Hey... what's wrong?"

Picking her head up off his shoulder, Cameron surprisingly looked more like she was upset than aroused, her eyes weren't glowing, her brow cinched together and her bottom lip was being chewed nearly raw by her teeth.

"Okay... it's okay." Fighting down a surge of frustration, he reached up and gently framed her face, "You're not ready. I get it. We can just get some sleep tonight."

"No!" Cameron hadn't sounded so insistent about anything for a long time. Refusing his offer, she felt determined to see this out, to keep her John happy. Leaning down again, she nuzzled his neck in the way that usually crumbled his resistance.

"Hey... hey!" After the conversation they'd just had, John couldn't believe that she thought he would force her to do something she clearly wasn't ready for, "Cameron, it's fine. You obviously need sleep. How long has it been? Tell me the truth."

"What does it matter?" Tears rolling down her cheeks, Cameron tried to push down again, intent on paying him back for all the confusion and frustration he'd had to suffer lately - all because of her issues. In her mind, this was the least a wife could do for her husband. Especially one who had been so patient with her.

Letting out a grunt at being physically shoved back into the bed, he was about to protest when it was abruptly cut off by a very un-manly yelp of pain. One of Cameron's hands had shoved down on what until then had been a quickly healing bruised rib. "Shit!"

"John?" Pulling back in obvious confusion, Cameron looked down at the pained expression on his face, her eyes switching to where his hand clutched at his damaged rib protectively. Eyes flying wide, she immediately took all pressure off her husband, trying not to touch him at all, "I, I'm sorry."

Sitting up with a groan, John clutched at his side while taking shuddering breaths, eyes clamped shut and his jaw clenched painfully trying not to make any noises. He didn't want Cameron to feel any worse than she already did, "Fine... fine... just let me catch... my breath."

Daring to touch him again, Cameron laid her fingertips as lightly and as close as she could to where he was clutching. Pulling back almost immediately, her eyes widened into an expression of stark panic as her diagnostic subroutines spit out the result of her cursory inspection, "I, I've cracked your rib."

"Couldn't have." He waved her off, still trying to catch his breath. Honestly, he couldn't believe such a simple thing was taking this long. "Didn't hurt...that... bad."

Climbing off of him, Cameron hunched by his side, not trusting herself to touch him, but wanting to help, "You're injured...you need to see Charley, he can fix you."

"Not... spending our anniversary... in the barracks." Shaking his head with a frown, John stood on slightly shaky legs and made his way over to the dresser, yanking out a first aid kit and unrolling a length of ace bandage. "Besides... I keep telling you... it's not cracked."

"It doesn't matter! John, I hurt you!" Standing up off the bed just as shakily as her husband, Cameron padded over to him, tears staining her cheeks. Standing just behind him pathetically, all she could come up with was an apology, "I, I'm sorry."

"It's not a big deal." Forcing a smile, John started trying to wrap the bandage over his ribs, having gotten pretty good at the action since the FUBAR in Armenia, "Grab my knife from my jacket, would you?"

Immediately doing as instructed, Cameron quickly made her way over to his jacket. Fumbling through the pockets while trying to keep one eye on her John, she was surprised when something fell out of one of the pockets, landing square on her foot.

After wrapping the bandages tightly around his midsection a few times, he pinned it in place with his free hand, waiting for his knife to cut off the excess, "Left pocket, sweetheart."

Bending down slowly to pick up the object, she stormed back over to her husband, looking from her hands to the back of his head. Suddenly, all of her guilt seemed to be overridden by something else, "What are these?"

"What are wha.." Turning around, John's eyes fell closed as soon as he saw what she was holding and let out a sigh. Cameron immediately identified it as his 'busted' look, the one he frequently used with Sarah over the years when he knew there was no point in denying wrongdoing and decided to 'take his medicine'.

"You've started smoking again." Jumping to the obvious conclusion, Cameron again looked from the packet of cigarettes in her hand to his face, "You told me you quit...you promised me."

"Just a few." Shrugging rather pathetically, John leaned back against the dresser, "I've been... stressed."

"Because of me." Again jumping to conclusions, Cameron's eyes dropped to her hands where she idly turned the pack over and over as if it could offer her answers.

Stepping forward, he took the pack and tossed it onto the dresser, "Because the world is about to end. I work out in the barracks... most of the men smoke. It's hard not to bum one here and there."

Quietly digging through his pockets again, Cameron fished out his knife and handed it to him without a word. Feeling worse than ever, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, staring at the jacket in her lap, mulling over so many different thoughts. Principle among those was her own guilt, one for hurting him, two for driving him to smoke again, three...well three was just general self pity and anger towards herself for not being able to please her husband the way she should've been able to. And if she was being honest with herself, a way she was starting to miss herself.

Quickly and efficiently cutting the cloth, John folded the knife back up and pinned the end of the bandage down with a pair of butterfly clips just below his armpit, moving around a little to make sure it was tight enough to prevent what was very likely a cracked rib from moving around. He still couldn't bring himself to blame his wife though, she didn't know her own strength sometimes, especially when she got emotional.

Walking over, he kneeled down in front of her, taking the jacket and draping it over her shoulders, more than a little conscious of the fact she was still naked, "You're gonna get cold, sweetheart."

Idly fiddling with her wedding ring, Cameron looked up at her husband's smiling, reassuring face. "You're upset."

Scrunching his brows together in confusion, John fished his boxers up off the floor and slipped them back on, "Upset? About what?"

"I can't pleasure you without crying, I can't sleep without you, I cracked one of your ribs, I stop you from doing what you enjoy." Getting herself worked up, she sat up straighter, his jacket falling from her shoulders.

"Stop... Cameron," holding her head firmly between his hands, he waited until she focused on his eyes, "You're suffering from a... a mental illness. Okay? I don't blame you. I _like_ sleeping with you. My rib was an accident. And you only want me to stop smoking because you care. Fuck... mom almost died of cancer, you'd think I'd be smarter."

"You'd be happier without me..." Resigned to the fact she was nothing but a burden on him, Cameron's brow cinched together as she lay down flat on the bed, "It would be easier for you."

"Name one thing besides you that makes me happy, Cameron." John wasn't going to accept this kind of thing. Not now, not ever. "One."

Frowning for a moment, Cameron opened her mouth to speak. Despite her massive processing power and a level of intelligence far surpassing any other Skynet creation, she couldn't think of one single thing. In all the years she'd known her John, he hadn't shown any resemblance of true happiness when he wasn't with her. Shutting her mouth with an audible clomp, she leaned forward and wrapped her amrs around his neck, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Dropping a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder, he rubbed his hands up and down her back, "God, you're freezing. How many times have I told you that you can't be walking around naked in this old fucking house in this weather?"

Breaking out into a small smile, Cameron tightened her grip on him, burrowing her head in his neck, "You were the one who told me to take off my robe."

"That was for the massage," smiling a little himself, he slowly maneuvered her back over to the bed, "Which ended a while ago. So... you're not pissed at me?"

"Why would I be angry with you?" Pulling her husband down with her, Cameron lay at his side, not wanting to risk damaging his ribs any more than she already had.

Letting slip a tired sigh, John didn't hesitate to pull her down on top of him, head over his heart the way she always loved before pulling the blankets up over them both and rubbing her arm to try and warm her up, "I lied to you. I broke my promise."

"And I haven't been the best wife lately. I'm the one who should be apologizing to you." Snuggling into her customary position while still trying to keep as much weight off him as possible, Cameron closed her eyes, wanting as much sleep as possible before the inevitable stress of the next few days.

"Would you please stop that already?" Moving his hand from her arm and into her hair, he ran his fingers through it slowly, "It's not a pass/fail test, Cameron. I'm not exactly husband of the year. But we'll make it work."

"Do you swear?" Slowly running her hand up and down his side, Cameron savored the feeling of his fingers in her hair, one of the many little things that would never cease to remind her of how much he loved her.

"On my life." Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he smiled now that she was finally starting to relax, "I just want you to be happy. Like I said, it's my turn to take care of you for once."

"Then I swear too." Smiling, she dropped a kiss on the skin closest to her lips. "I love you, John."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Letting slip a long yawn, he frowned at the clock beside the bed. "I have to be up in four hours. You think you can get some sleep?"

"As long as...you're here." Feeling the sweet slumber approaching, Cameron's words slowed considerably as she took in a deep breath of his calming scent.

"Good." Dropping one last kiss on her forehead, he lay back in bed and stared up at the ceiling, so much on his mind he was unsure if he'd be joining her - an irony to be sure. "G'night, Cam."

* * *

T.B.C

Author's Note: Very sorry for the insane gap between updates here guys. Part of it was a new job, part of it was life stuff, and part of it was I wanted to get most of book 2 sketched out before I completed this one. On the bright side, the post J-day, early war storyline is pretty much ironed out so it should be updated closer to the pace it used to be.

All in all though, it's good to be back ;~)

Thanks as always to my beta Bigbew and to everyone who has taken the time to let me know how much they enjoy this story. Your reviews keep me going.


	33. Chapter 33

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 33/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 09/14/12  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's Note: Okay... here it is, the first chapter of Book 2. The part everyone couldn't wait to get to, and the one I made you wait a year before you got to see. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about that, but I will take this opportunity to explain.

I always knew that if I continued this, I didn't want to do it half way. After all, the only reason I started doing fanfiction in the first place was to polish up my skills and see if people were receptive to my writing style before attempting an original series I've been contemplating writing for years. So in a way, this is the final test. I wanted to treat it like a real book and real books take a lot of prep work before pen ever meets paper or fingers ever hit keys.

Frankly, I didn't know if I wanted to put that much effort into it. All of you who sent me PMs and Emails asking me to continue, pat yourselves on the back, because without you and constant nagging from my Beta BigBew, this never would have happened. The whole point is that I wanted to do justice to the vision in my head, and knew I wouldn't be happy with anything less. But in order to do that I had to create an entire universe of characters, locations, dates and times for events and place everything in the proper position and sequence even before I could start the actual writing. I didn't want to get halfway through and realize I'd written myself into a corner (which has happened in previous fics, which is why my other 2 are abandoned).

The practical upshot to this is that now that I'm ready, the updates should come faster than you guys got used to in the previous book, as it's all lined up from start to finish and just needs fleshed out as I go. The first few chapters are going to be hard to keep track of, a lot of new characters and plot points are going to be introduced fairly rapidly, so I've tried to help by again giving you visuals for each of them in an effort to help everyone keep track.

In that vein, if you click on my profile, all the new characters to be introduced in the next few chapters are posted and 'cast'. Also, as a special treat, the recurring characters have also had their profile pictures updated to reflect the new reality of the war and the feel of their lives in the bunker.

Also, as it has been so long, you might want to reread the last few chapters to refresh your memory as to what's going on. Though I did try to recap a few things in this chapter to make up for that.

So, after the longest author's note in the history of fanfiction - I'll turn you loose to (hopefully) enjoy the start of book two and the beginning of the war.

Thank you to everyone who stuck with me this far, know that you're the reason I keep doing this.

* * *

**Book 2: The Machine War**

Chapter 1: Safe Harbor

_Death closes all: but something ere the end_  
_Some work of noble note, may yet be done,_  
_Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods._

**- Message carved into the wood of a desk reported to have**  
**belonged to Sarah Connor during the Machine War.**

Time: Unknown  
Location: Unknown

_How many times have we been here?_

John's head jerked upright as the hollow voice pierced the murky black surrounding him. Engulfing him. His last coherent memory has been lying on the cool concrete of the bunker floor, a pool of blood he genuinely hoped belonged to the soldier he'd just fallen down a flight of stairs with wetting his clothes and hair as Cole screamed at him to stay conscious.

Obviously he'd failed.

The shaddows surrounding him seemed to morph and bleed into one another, roiling like clouds rolling in from the sea as they collided and then moved apart. Grays and blacks oozed along his field of vision in every direction, the ground so dark he couldn't even make out the form of his boots beneath the fog. Dreams were nothing new to John, or his mother for that matter. Over the years, both had been plagued by persistant and vivid nightmares more times than they cared to admit. But for some reason John couldn't really explain, this felt nothing like any of them.

_How many more will we have to?_

Spinning in place in an effort to locate the source of the voice proved pointless as it seemed to be moving along just as smoothly as the darkness surrounding him. For a moment, a cold chill rushed down John's spine as for the first time he truly contemplated that he may have died in the fall. That this wasn't a dream.

Deciding that he'd had enough, John Connor, savior of mankind, tilted his chin upwards in what he hoped was a defiant manner. It might have even worked if he'd kept the slight tremor from his voice, "Whoever you are... get to the point!"

In the space of a moment, laughter echoed from every direction simultaneously, oppressively loud and more than a little manic. As John once again spun as if to locate an attacker, the first hint of anything beyond blackness appeared before his eyes like clips from a movie - projected onto the smokey whisps.

A series of soldiers, each wearing slightly different versions of the same jacket his men had given him streaked by in quick succession, glaring at something beyond the edge of the 'frame', "Who the hell are you?!"Then came the images.

It was indescribable the way they flowed through his mind like a massive, unstoppable wave. One after another, as if he were standing beside an old fashioned projector and trying to keep up by staring at the moving film alone. In his own terms, the sheer amount of data bombarding his mind in the space of a few seconds was coming so quickly he couldn't step back and process it all, or even a fraction, he simply had to endure the avalanche of unexplained flashes.

Afraid the assault would completely overwhelm him, John tried in desperation to isolate and focus on a few as they slipped through his brain like a strainer whose holes were just a bit too large to be effective. He saw places he knew he had never been, and faces... so many faces. Some were familiar, with minor differences. Some were exactly the same, over and over, in different settings and locations. Through it all though, he was forced to simply try and hold on, praying it would stop before he lost what little sanity he was clinging to these days.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the strings were cut and the flashes dimmed, every strand resolving into the same black images.

Clutching the sides of his head as the screaming subsided, John noticed for the first time he'd slumped down to his knees, his hands shaking violently as he extended them in front of his face as if to confirm they still existed, "What do you want from me?"

The hollow voice that had greeted him waited a long moment before responding, becoming clearer with every word it spoke. Less alien. Less ominous.

_For you to understand._

Rolling his eyes, the younger Connor shoved himself back to his feet in a single motion, "Then stop acting like some bad sci-fi movie and just _tell_me!"

_We can't tell you what to do._

The clouds surrounding him seemed to be slowing down in their motions, taking on forms of their own. At first they looked like roiling inkblots slowly spinning down a drain, but as the voice continued, the edges became harder and more distinct. More human. The background was filling steadily with whispers, each more urgent than the last, as if a massive sea of people were all trying to get his attention at the same moment.

_We can't speak to you._

One figure stepped forward, the smoke falling away like tufts of ash as it extended a hand towards John, a determination in it's eyes that frankly scared the hell out of the young soldier. Even in his fear, even in his confusion, John recognized that face in an instant. He'd seen it plenty of times in Cameron's memory files, and it was one he'd learned to distrust. To hate.

_Himself._

The General moved in a blur, his hand slamming down onto John's chest before he'd even had a chance to breathe. At the moment of contact, the world seemed to blur around the edges, to warp and broil, a searing pain immenating outwards from his chest to every corner of his body.

_But we can show you. _

The blurred lines shot off in every direction like the star-field from a spaceship in the movies, pulling him along as the pain tore through every fibre of his being. Though he tried to scream, the sound bled off into the nothingness, and then the world seeped through the blackness... the 'real' world, one pixel at a time until the dark had receded, and he stood in a dimly lit room across the table from a familiar, if entirely unexpected occupant.

"It is the only explanation, General." Though the surroundings seemed to indicate they were well into the war ahead, John Henry still hadn't seemed to grasp even the most simple of human expressions, "The human mind may find ways to deceive, but the mathematics do not lie."

John tried to speak. He tried to move. When neither worked he tried to scream again - all to no avail, as 'he' stepped closer to the table and released a weary sigh, a gravelly and defeated voice following a second behind, "How could Skynet have missed this? How could it be that dense?"

"The simple answer," the cyborg punched a few keys on the laptop in front of him idly, as if focusing soley on the conversation wasn't enough stimulation for him, "Is that it did not. It knew exactly what it was doing."

The growl that came up from John's chest in that moment didn't sound even remotely human, "By trapping us in a fucking time loop?!"

"General," Seemingly put off by the human's emotional outburst, John Henry lowered his voice a few decibles, "It was about to be destroyed. Skynet likely concluded that if it repeated the process enough times, eventually it would find a way to defeat your forces. It is not an unreasonable assumption."

It was about that time that John realized the truth. The reason he couldn't speak or move under his own will, and the meaning behind the disembodied voice's words. He was seeing a memory. A memory from that previous version of himself. His mind flooded with questions he knew would likely go unanswered, and in the chaos, he fought to focus on the scene, as Connor spoke again.

"How many?"

John Henry, if possible, looked a little cowed as he returned his gaze to the General, "There is no way of knowing exactly..."

"_HOW MANY_?!"

"Dozens." The cyborg turned the laptop around for John to see, a single line stretched across from one end to the other, discolorations both large and small dotting various points with mathematic formulas so advanced he couldn't even begin to comprehend scrolling along the side, "Perhaps hundreds of cycles. The only marker I have to go by is the damage we've detected in space-time using the captured Skynet equipment. It is becoming... extensive."

"Dozens... _hundreds!_" John could feel the body he was riding shotgun in stagger a bit, both palms coming down onto the table top to steady himself. "We always assumed there were other time-lines. That 'real' time travel was impossible."

John Henry actually seemed to be attempting sympathy. Failing, but attempting it, "You, much like Skynet, assumed incorrectly. One time line, one universe. Every time a person is sent back it resets from the moment they arrive, rippling down from that point forward. General, both you and Skynet, by sending soldiers and operatives back through time have assured this war has never truly ended. It _will_ never truly end."

"I... I had to..." Unwilling to shoulder the same blame Skynet did, John shook his head in defiance, "If Kyle doesn't go back, I'll never be born. One time line, right?!"

"On the contrary." Explaining temporal mechanics to a human was starting to look like an impossible task, even for a super-intelligent AI. Still, John Henry persisted, "I use the term 'cycles' for a very specific reason. Each is distinct, different. The ripples I described effectively destroy the previous cycle from the moment a temporal incursion is made onwards. The person having come back in time is still a member of that destroyed cycle, entirely independent of the one they now inhabit. If Kyle Reese were to die right now, you would not cease to exist, though you would not exist in the next cycle if he were not sent back from this one."

Running the items over in his mind, John began to realize that he might actually _be_just as responsible as Skynet for locking humanity in this never-ending hell. How many cycles had he assumed he had to wait until Skynet finished it's work on the TDE so he could send Kyle back? Hell, there may have even been cycles where it hadn't, and John himself had completed the work just to make sure he was born. How many times? How... how many?! "Then it's possible... to, to break the cycle? To end it once and for all?"

"Theoretically. Not in this cycle, it's far too late for that." John Henry tried to look placating as Connor's fists curled so hard the knuckles turned white, "But I do know it must be done soon. The damage to the time-line from repeated incursions is becoming worse. Soon, it may result in catastrophic damage."

At the perplexed look on John's face, the machine continued, "Once the cycle is broken, we will be moving through a 'new' period of time. As it stands, we keep... walking over the same piece of carpet, so to speak. Over and over again. General, the carpet is starting to wear thin, and soon it might tear entirely. The universe was not equipped with a 'replay' function, I'm afraid."

"My... my dreams." Resting his forehead against the wall, a small part of John actually wished he was crazy. It would have been easier to deal with.

"Precisely." Looking proud of the human for having figured that out, John Henry closed his laptop, "You, and to a lesser extent your mother and father, are the most stable points in the loop. You in particular, as you exist in all points from beginning to end. You are a magnet for these... distortions. And as they become worse, you will perceive them with increased regularity. You are the only known entity that exists throughout the entire sequence of events."

"Meaning..." John rubbed the bridge of his nose, "They'll get worse every cycle."

"That may not be a bad thing, Mr. Connor." Standing up in his traditionally stiff way, the cyborg layed a hand on John's shoulder, "In fact, exposure to these memories might just provide you the knowledge you need to break the cycle. Though it will likely take several attempts to map out the potential pitfalls."

"And... and what?" Looking up at the machine, John was too tired to be angry anymore, "Hope I listen? Hope I don't think I'm going insane like... like... And what about the men? You think soldiers will follow some, some prophet who makes his decisions based on 'visions from the future'?!"

Quirking his head slightly to the side, John Henry actually looked amused at the notion, "It would not be the first time that human beings rallied behind a strong leader claiming to possess knowledge of a single path to survival derived from a supernatural source."

Staring long and hard at the cyborg, Connor could feel the smallest of smirks tugging up the corner of his lips, "Please tell me you're joking."

"Of course, General." Nodding crisply, with absolutely no human emotion, the cyborg turned to depart, "It would likely be best if you kept your 'visions' to yourself."

Waiting until the machine had left, John made his way back to his chair with a plan... perhaps his most insane to date lodged firmly in his mind. Grabbing the remains of a cracked and dusty mirror from a shelf barely hanging to the wall, he brushed as much of the grime as was possible off with the sleeve of his uniform before sitting down. Looking into the mirror with a sigh, he narrowed his eyes, "I... I don't know exactly how this works. I don't know if you'll ever see this, or if you do, that it will be in time to help you. But then again, none of the bleed-through I've experienced seemed to be on purpose before."

"So maybe this will be stronger... maybe it will carry through." Brushing a hand along the curve of his jaw, Connor tried to focus his mind as much as possible before closing his eyes, "How many times have we been here? How many more will we have to? I need for you to understand. We can't tell you what to do. We can't speak to you. But we can show you... if you'll listen."

The blackness returned as if a switch had been flipped, but this time... John was alone.

* * *

April 1st, 2011 (Judgment Day)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
1911hrs

Having been seated near the front of the bus, Private Amanda O'Brien was... mercifully, one of the first people able to unload. She found herself equally blessed by the wide berth the civilians afforded her due to both the massive sniper rifle slung over her shoulder and the dog jogging along at her feet.

The entire area was a flurry of activity as every one of the soldiers, even including some of the Air Force personnel from within the base, set about their assigned tasks. Amanda had known this would be a Herculean effort, but until this moment she hadn't quite understood just what John Connor had managed to piece together when Perry had demanded they find a location large enough to house their families as well as his soldiers.

The original plan had been to slip quietly into one of the many abandoned Nike missile silos dotting the plains states. Many had long-since been converted for other uses. A handful had even been renovated into self-sustaining apartments on the basis that millionaires would pay dearly to be able to ride out the apocalypse in style and luxury. But with the end of the Cold War and the steep decline in the threat of a nuclear exchange, many of those projects had simply been abandoned.

In the end, it were those preparations that were going to keep these civilians alive. As well as gathering an impressive arsenal of weapons and ammunition - much of which was scattered across the tri-state area in various dumps for later retreival, John had blown almost every penny the former Resitance fighters had been provided with for their various missions in the past on non-perishable food, medical equipment, even water and air purification and recycling systems in the event that whereever they ended up didn't have the proper supplies.

But Cheyenne freaking Mountain? Even with the new additions secretly added in the decade after 9/11 at the insistance of paranoid politicians who wanted to protect their families in the event some nutjob managed to get their hands on a few nukes, it didn't seem to be enough. While only on 'Hot-standby' there were still over one hundred personnel that would need to be housed alongside John's men and Perry's Rangers, as well as their families. All told they were going to be cramming over two hundred and thirty people into a bunker for nearly a year that was designed to house two-hundred people for thirty days, according to the publicity releases anyways.

Expansions to the facility undertaken during the blank check days post 9/11 had nearly doubled the living space and storage areas, giving John just enough to provide a livable if not entirely comfortable existence for those who would be sheltered inside. The air and water was designed to be filtered and recycled, the power systems were primarily diesel generators but Austin had a lot of experience jury-rigging power sources in a future where your best source of it was provided by fallen enemy units. A handful of the dispatched T-888's they'd taken down over the last few years would ironically be doing their part to keep their human enemy alive and fighting. In the end, John's biggest concern had been the ability to feed and maintain the health of such a large population.

The solution had proven to even the most ardent critics of his recent alliance that it paid to know people in high places though, especially if they were a liquid metal cyborg with military connections and a massive corporate empire behind them. It was little sacrifice to have to fit eight more souls into their little base when each was driving a semi-truck full of food and supplies courtesy of a very condescending Catherine Weaver

Patting Greg's head as she walked towards the open maw leading to her new home, the scout sniper readjusted her knit cap to cover the tips of her ears, "Well... this is kinda cool, I guess. Ready to go find our new room, girl?"

"Look, you have nee idea what you're talking about." Tossing his hands up in frustration, Specialist Austin couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. It was one thing to hear this sort of thing all year round from the bloody yanks he was surrounded with, but to hear it from a fellow Brit…that was the last straw for the usually reserved Englishman. "You've got to leave the tea bag in the cup for a while, let it stew, love. Otherwise it'll always taste like pissy water!"

"Oi!" Shoving a few stray hairs from her eyes, Lieutenant James looked sidelong at the man that had latched onto her almost as soon as she'd spoken her first words. Apprently he was feeling a little lonely amongst what he still considered a bunch of foreigners. "I'm not saying dip it in and just whip it back out again! But I'd rather drink the thing than stand there admiring it while it 'stews'…love."

"Hey!" Snapping a little when the kind of light, bony form which could only belong to a tech smashed right into her back, Amanda spun around with a glare while re-straightening her hair. It didn't help that her curls fell directly into her eyes and required three swipes to get them all back behind her ears or shoved up under her cap, "What the hell, Austin? Walk much?!"

"Oww, ya bugger!" Rubbing his elbow like it had just been bitten by the pooch looking up curiously at him, Lucas glanced back and forth between the two women, finding the smug smirk on Matilda's face too much to take. "Well what did you stop for?"

"I was just taking a last look around before I..." It was moments like these that made O'Brien look even more like a cartoon character to those around her. Eyes widening slowly, she quickly tried to smooth the last remenants of her never entirely tamed hair behind her ears as she turned to face the woman standing beside the tech, "Um... who's your uh... your friend, Lucas?"

Shoving her hand forward with a grin, Lieutenant James could barely hold back her laugh at Austin's stutters as she nodded, "Tilly. Well , Lieutenant James, to be precise."

Looking a little embarrased, O'Brien slowly took the offered hand in her own, hoping the woman would ignore her frayed knit, brown fingerless gloves. Scout snipers spent a lot of time out in the cold, and Amanda had basically built her wardrobe around it, "Tilly. That's a... a pretty name. But you must get that a lot, huh? I mean... I... Amanda isn't a pretty name. At least I don't think so... I'm... rambling again."

Rolling his eyes off to the side, Austin idly wondered if this meant that Cole might be losing her shadow's attention. Lucas wasn't exactly a hit with the ladies, or even comfortable talking to one for more than a few minutes involving something other than motherboards or CPU's, but even he found this embarrassing.

"Amanda?" Still smiling, albeit with her brow creeping higher and higher, Matilda shook the hand in hers, "Amanda's a lovely name. Tilly is short for Matilda, but only my mum calls me that. Nice to meet you."

Before the sniper had a chance to stutter out a response, a battered cowboy hat ducked into view, Mike 'Huey' Hendrix letting his massive Army duffel crash to the ground as he joined the small group. Glancing down at the women's hands, he couldn't help but notice how Amanda was blushing beet red while still engaged in what might have been the longest handshake in human history.

Elbowing Austin in the ribs none too gently, in typical Huey style, the Texan spoke loud enough for the entire group and most of those passing by to hear, "Think now that she's got a new crush Cole can take a shower without a bikini on?"

"Huey!" If it was possible, Amanda was sure she was blushing even harder than a moment ago. To make matters worse, she realised at that moment just how long she'd been holding onto Matilda's hand, snatching it away with a nervous laugh and tucking it behind her back. "Um, he's uh, he's…uh..."

"If ya like her..." Looking between the two as he puffed on his cigar, Huey was about as 'helpful' as always, "Just ask her out, 'Manda. Damn, what's it been since anyone besides the dog shared yer bed?"

Moving more swiftly than her general appearance would lead you to assume, Amanda darted across the small gap between them, smacking him on his arm before he'd even had a chance to react. If her speed was surprising, it had nothing on the power in her left arm, thumping him so hard it would've made Cameron proud, "Shut the fuck up, Huey, or I swear!"

Rubbing the sore spot on his arm with a bemused smile, Hendrix just shrugged his shoulders and leaned down to fuss over the clearly confused dog, "You at least gonna introduce me to your new friend, then?"

Finding this all very amusing, flattering…and just a little bit surreal, Matilda steped forward again quickly to introduce herself. She got the impression Amanda was in no state to do it for her, and Austin…well he seemed to have lost interest in the entire debacle as he stared at the flurry of people unloading the trucks around them, "Tilly, pleased to meet you. You're uh…Huey, right?"

"Sure am." Shaking her hand, albiet maybe a little too firmly - a trait most of the Resistance fighters she'd met so far seemed to share - Hendrix grinned around his cigar, "I fly the boss around. Oh, and I make mean grits."

"Grits?" Quirking her head to the side, Tilly looked to Lucas for help, kind of like a translator for the same language.

"Made from corn." Austin shivered a bit, "Like shredded wheat, but smoother. And blander than our food on most days."

"Oh." Not really getting the reference, Tilly smiled anyway. She had a feeling that dealing with these people would result in a lot of smiling and nodding. They seemed to have a language and behaviour all of their own. "Well then I look forward to tasting these…grits."

Swinging her arms with a smile, Tily looked around the small group that had assembled, looking for any sign of order amongst the general chaos of the bunker, "So…anybody know what we're supposed to do now that we're here? The scary looking woman on the bus wasn't much help."

"We're waitin' for Cole to pass on our orders." Standing back up, Huey took one last pull off his cigar before snuffing it out under his boot, "Got a message while me and your boyfriend were tearin' down the birds with Perry's Rangers, said no one in or out till she says so. That's all I know."

"So where is she?" Her cheeks having returned to a slightly more normal shade of red , Amanda found her voice, still stealing glances at the beautiful woman standing beside her. "Cole, I mean. Shouldn't she be here? Or Connor?"

"Not sure. Message came through about twenty or thirty minutes ago." Looking over towards the busses, Huey let out a tired sigh when he caught sight of Rachel 'helping' a clearly nervous cyborg slowly towards the complex, the pilot shook his head, "And she'd better hurry her ass up. Connor won't be happy if Cameron gets stuck up here for long."

"Cameron…" Tilly rolled the name around in her head, something about it sticking out as important, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. "I know that name. Why do I know that name?"

"Connor's wife." Nodding in the direction of the girl as she leaned on her friend and glanced around constantly as if afraid one of the civilians would jump forward and bite her, Huey was getting nervous himself. She'd been unstable for the past few weeks, and if she was stranded up here, away from John, and someone said or did the wrong thing... it wouldn't be good.

"Pretty." It was a genuine observation, so much so that Tilly didn't notice Amanda's eyes almost bulging out of her head when she heard it. Leaning against the wall to her side, she watched as the wife of the boss approached, looking for all the world like a nervous child, rather than the confident young woman her outfit would lead you to believe. "Who's the girl with her?"

"Corporal Lorne." Amanda smiled helpfully, actually starting to relax a little, "They're best friends. She keeps an eye on her while John is busy, which... well, it's a lot of the time."

"An eye on her?" Turning back, Tilly's face betrayed her confusion. It didn't look like there was much wrong with Cameron, after all, a lot of people got nervous when they arrived at a new place and were surrounded by strangers. "I'm not sure I understand. She must be what, nineteen, twenty? Can't she take care of herself?"

Remembering the cover story Rachel herself had passed around the barracks before they departed, Amanda glanced down at her boots, having never been a very good liar. "She's seventeen. Two years younger than John. They took her in after her parents died and she and him have been inseparable ever since. But she has some... minor, you know... emotional issues."

"Emotional issues?" Watching the two women approach, Tilly couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Seventeen, and she'd lost her parents at a young age, the poor thing. Now she was married to the man who was apparenty destined to lead the entire human race. That was some life to live. "But she's so…young."

"What the _**hell**_ is up with the sewing circle, ladies?!" Tilly didn't fail to notice how the sudden, sharp barking from the woman approaching them made the girl a few feet away clutch into her friend's side, cringing in obvious distress before she was hustled away by Lorne.

The soldier standing across from the Brit looked... intense, to say the least. Clad in dark fatigues which for some reason were soaked with a large amount of blood, she was pure military precision from her painstakingly polished boots up to the strict ponytail spilling out from the back of her tactical cap.

"Cole! I uh…" Looking guilty for reasons even she didn't think were plausible, Amanda was the first to spring up from her position leaning against the wall. "I wasn't uh…never mind. What's going on? Where's Connor?"

Swiping a hand tiredly over her face, without a mirror around, Darla didn't notice the streak of blood she left behind across her cheak, "He was injured in the assault. Charley stabalized him, but his back is pretty fucked up."

"What in the hell do you mean, 'fucked up'?" Huey shoved himself off the wall too, taking his place alongside Amanda and eyeing the blood on Cole's cheek like it was about to rear up and bite him, "How fucked up?"

"Herniated discs he thinks." Shaking her head, Darla cringed a bit as she remembered the screams, "They're pushing on nerves or something. He's in a lot of pain. A... well, yeah, a lot."

"Does she know yet?" Surprising everyone by speaking up from the back of the crowd, Austin was simply speaking his mind, his gaze still diverted by Cameron clutching slightly at Rachel as they tried to navigate their way past a lost looking crowd of people.

"Of course not." Darla's glare could have burned through lead, not realizing an outsider was standing in the group surrounding her, "It's her fucking fault he's laid up in there. If she'd been doing her job..."

"Cole!" Realising what she was about to say, Huey almost leapt up off the ammo crate he'd taken root on, catching the Major's eye with a wave of his hand. None of them could afford to have anybody say anything they weren't suppose to, least of all Cole. "Where is he? Do we need to do anything?"

Nodding crisply, the Operator frowned at the new arrival before snapping off orders, "I'm in charge until Connor is up and running. Anything supply or civilian-related goes to Lt. Baum, everything else comes to me."

"Austin!" Waiting for the Tech to snap to his version of startled attention, she rolled her eyes, "Connor wants that secure uplink with Weaver taken care of ASAP. Get down there and comandeer as much help as you need from the Chair Force. Get me?"

"O... of course." Tossing a small wave in Tilly's direction, Lucas took a half step before turning back to Cole with a stage whisper, "By the way... you've got red on you."

"I noticed!" Snagging the cigar she saw poking out of Huey's chest pocket and motioning for him to hand off his lighter, Darla looked ready to either throttle someone or have a major breakdown as Austin scurried off, "Hendrix, the medical bay barely has bandaids on hand. Like I said, John is in a bad way... Charley said there are crates up here with Morphine. Find one, and get it to him yesterday."

"You got it." Cupping his hands around hers as she lit up, Huey glanced up at Sarah, eyeing the huddle warily as she sheperded a group of tired and irritable civilians towards where they should've been. "Does _she _know?"

"She's about to." Rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly, Darla took a long, shuddering drag on the cigar before motioning for Huey to get moving. Turning to O'Brien and the new addition to their little crew, the Operator nodded, "You two get downstairs and stow your gear, then report to Lt. Baum for assignment. I'm too busy to find you something useful to do right now."

"Come on, Amanda." Not bothering to even acknowledge Cole any more, Tilly took an oddly reluctant to move Amanda's arm to lead her away. Smiling brightly, she spotted a familiar face leaning against a mostly stripped out Blackhawk helicopter, the Captain looking just about as surly as usual as he admired a group of civilian women massing opposite him. "Put your eyes back in your head, Jonny boy!"

"Oi!" Though he looked sheepish for just a moment as he stood up properly, Richards' glare chased the expression away as quickly as it did most things, "No sense in pretty scenery if I can't admire it a bit, now is there?"

"Yeahhh…" Letting her words drag out to let him know just how full of shit she knew he was, Tilly tugged Amanda closer, only slightly hoping to give the man something else to look at. "How come you're just knocking about here? Don't you have stuff to do like the rest of us?"

"Just finished." Rapping his nuckles on the metallic skin of the helicopter, Jon tilted his sunglasses down a bit as a pair of women walked past, one leaning against the other. It was the one patting her back that caught his eye though - looking a bit like his second wife, well, with the addition of a nasty scar peeking out from the side of her collar and wrapping up near the back of her jaw, "Now, who do we have here?"

Narrowing her eyes, Rachel brushed on past. Ever since she'd started going out in more public surroundings, mostly on shopping trips with Cameron, she'd gotten used to men from this time acting that way. Pigs. "Come on Cameron, let's get out of here."

"Nice going, Jon." Shaking her head with a smirk, Tilly rolled her eyes, "I see that charm school really paid off."

Shrugging, Jon watched Rachel pass on by, not above admitting he was admiring certain aspects of her posterior when his eyes lifted just a little. Face twisting when he realised who the girl was cuddling, John looked back at Tilly with a grimace, "That…thing is here."

"Hey." Still sounding a bit depressed, Amanda looked up from under her bangs. It was eyebrow-quirking to Jon the way she seemed to be blushing at the arm Tilly had over her shoulders, "John is a good man. None of us would be here without him. We... we don't have to like her. But please... you insult him when you insult her."

"And who the hell are you, darling?" Eyebrow raising with every word of her little outburst, Jon shoved his hands in his pockets while he looked her over. "Tilly must like you, that probably means I'll like you too. But not a good way to start, love."

Surprisingly, it was the dog at her feet that responded, sauntering casually between the pair and sitting down on it's haunches, teeth baring with a low sound spilling from it's throat. Cole she knew, but this man wasn't showing her handler the proper respect and she didn't like the power she sensed rolling off of him, "Greg... sit. Good girl."

Amanda smirked as she scratched the dog's head, immeadiately reverting it to a cuddly puppy, "Amanda O'Brien. Scout Sniper, sir."

"Faithful little friend there, O'Brien." Smirking as he stared at the dog, meeting it's eyes for a brief moment. "But what sort of a name is Greg for a girl?"

"Derek named her before he checked the plumbing. She seemed to like it, so we kept it." Deciding to rib the man back for his slight, Amanda smiled over at the women now standing near the entrance waiting for permission to enter like everyone else, "You should talk to Rachel though, she's nice."

Crouching down, Jon slowly and carefully reached out a hand to pet Greg, smiling when the dog allowed the contact, "Something tells me that one may be a little dangerous to get anywhere near. I'm not a fan of the company she keeps."

"You're working with this Connor bloke, right Jon?" Unable to hide her eye roll at the universal attraction all men seemed to have for dogs, Tilly chuckled, "I'd advise keeping that to yourself."

"Whatever." Standing, Jon let out a sigh, swinging his arms a little to distract himself from the fact that Tilly knew him so intimately well, "It's not my problem. Anyway, what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Well, we have our 'orders', so I imagine we should be going, right 'Manda?" Patting the other woman's back lightly, Tilly picked her bag back up and glanced around the group before motioning towards the door, "See you soon, Jon?"

"Right, I'll see you later. Once I work out where I'm supposed to be, that is."

Laughing to herself, Tilly pointed a finger over her shoulder towards the severe looking brunette in bloodied fatigues, "That one's in charge, Jonny! Um, good luck with that."

"Right." Shoving himself up off the cockpit again, Jon sighed when he saw the woman. She looked…intense, not to mention more than a little pissed off. The blood only made the look worse. Picking his way through the crowd, cursing whoever's decision it was to bring civilians in here, he finally made his way over to the woman leaning on a crate, taking a long drag of her cigar. "Major…Major?"

"What?!" Turning around, Cole speared the man with a glare in an effort to hide the redness she assumed was building up around her eyes. Seeing Johnny like that... it was one of the worst moments of her life. Oddly enough, she had found herself glancing around for Derek. _Yeah, as if that dumbass could comfort her... _"Do I know you?"

"Whoa…" Holding his hands up defensively, Jon took a mock step back with a grin. Not that he wasn't slightly intimidated by the glare, but he could never let himself give in to that. "Not yet, but you will. Captain Richards. I was told you're in charge around here."

"For the moment." Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Cole took a long drag from her cigar while trying to rebalance herself, "Is there something I can do for you, Captain? I'm really not in the mood for bullshit small talk."

"Fine. Neither am I." Straightening up, Jon took a step closer, getting the distinct impression he'd end up liking this woman, "I've been leaning against that bloody thing admiring the girls for the last twenty minutes. I'm sure there's something more productive I should be doing."

Looking the man up and down, Cole couldn't help but agree. He was built like a T-800 and could likely take Dooley, Huey, and Reed on at the same time. Not that she'd let him know that, "You can move people out of the way. Wilson is about to start dragging the hulks of those birds inside the tunnel."

"Wilson?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow at the thought of anybody dragging those things anywhere without the help of a tractor. "Don't tell me there's someone around here more buff than Captain America over there?" He nodded towards the guy standing with a rifle that was way too big for it's purpose by the main entrance, looking like he'd just slipped off the production line at a GI Joe factory.

"Dooley?" Rolling her eyes, Darla pointed across the pavement to the 'man' attatching chains to the helo's runners, his face totally expressionless as the Rangers around him seemed to be taking bets on how badly he'd hurt himself, "Dooley is a puppy dog. Even his girlfriend beats him up. That one? That one you have to worry about."

Twisting around to watch the show, Jon folded his arms across his chest. Still though, he couldn't help but look back over towards this Dooley guy with a frown. It looked like the girl he was admiring earlier and her 'friend', had made their way over towards him. The way he smiled when that 'thing' said something was making him sick to his stomach, "Why? What do I need to know about him?"

Having been briefed on Richards and what he knew, Cole almost laughed when he nearly jumped out of his skin as the Terminator got the chopper moving, sparks grinding out from under the struts as he tugged the connected chains with what appeared to be no effort at all, "He's phase one of John's 'integration' plan. Everyone will know he's metal, and that he works with us. We're starting out early this time, to get people comfortable with working with the machines as allies... equals. At least that's what John wants."

"You sound like you don't agree, Major." Still watching as the metal dragged, well, the metal, he winced at every scrape on the concrete. He turned away from the show to look back at Cole, who appeared to have lost interest in what was going on. "Am I right?"

"I agree with what Connor orders me to agree with, Richards." Though it didn't sound all that convincing even to her own ears, Darla turned to face him, "What do you believe?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe." Turning back to face Cole properly, he didn't know quite what to make of her. On one hand she seemed as hardass as anybody else around here, and on the other, it seemed like she had a vulnerability about her that she rarely showed. He'd always been good at reading people, and Darla was no exception. That was probably the reason he trusted Perry enough to come here, that video of Connor and his metal was…insightful. "I'm a soldier, I do as I'm told."

"Then you'll do just fine in the Resistance." Motioning towards the civilians moving out of the way with startled expressions, Cole just looked tired. "Help however you can. Most of the supplies are on pallets they're sending out forklifts for. Keep the civilians calm, lift anything too heavy for the others. I've got... notifications to make. Have you seen Lieutenant Baum or Mrs. Connor?"

Shuddering slightly, Jon nodded towards the door where he'd noticed 'Mrs. Connor' earlier. "Over there. Nice meeting you Major. Maybe I'll see you around some time."

"We'll be three rooms down, I imagine." That reminding her, she pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed it over to the SAS soldier, "Give that to Dooley and tell him to start letting people in. It has their bunk and room assignments. Oh, but not Cameron and Lorne. If they get in and she finds out what happened to John before I tell her... it won't be pretty."

Not exactly thrilled at being shoo'ed away like a messenger boy, Jon took the papers anyway and headed off towards the door, muttering under his breath. "Right. Drop off the papers, help civilians. Sounds bloody fun."

Turning on her own, Darla was actually startled when she ran headlong into the second target of her search. It didn't help that said target had given her the still healing blackness over her right eye, "Sa... um, Lt. Baum. I was looking for you."

In truth, she'd been going to tell Cameron first, but this might help more. If the metal went nuts, Sarah might be able to help, "I need to speak with you."

"Make it fast." Dropping the butt of her cigarette and stomping it out under her boot, Sarah looked just as frazzled as Cole felt. Fucking civilians, always whining, never happy. "I'm busy."

"It's..." All the woman's usual confidence seemed to fail her as she stood in front of Sarah Connor. With J-day about to kick off, it seemed to be sinking in that Sarah would soon be the stuff of legend again. Especially since she seemed virtually indestructable with the nano-treatment John had given her, "It's about Captain Connor. He..."

"He what?" Not in the mood for any more orders from her son, Sarah folded her arms across her chest and glared at the messenger…that was until she noticed Darla's dark expression, a deep sense of panic creeping in. "What happened to John?"

"He was hurt during the assault." Unable to meet her eyes, Cole looked at the shiny new dog-tags resting against Sarah's uniform jacket. They may have read Baum, but the terror in Sarah's eyes was the same as any mother's, "One of the security men recognized Wilson and opened fire. We subdued all but one, and John ran off after him. Apparently he amubushed him in a stairwell. They fought, both went over the edge. The Airman is dead, ripped his skull right open on the concrete. John landed on top of him, probably saved his life. But his back... he's in a lot of pain."

Absolute panic and terror gripping her heart, shoving aside any logic or thought, Sarah barged past Cole like she wasn't there. Or she would have had Darla not grabbed her arm, "Let go of me!"

"Do I really need to remind you that you're not supposed to be his mother, Sarah? Not only to protect the time line, and protect you from reprisals against John... but to hide this." Motioning towards Sarah's face, Cole at least looked sympathetic, "Ever since you started kicking it into high gear with those machines... pushing yourself, you look five to ten years younger, at least. If people find out you're his mother, they'll _know_you're not normal."

It was true and Sarah knew it, not that she would admit that to Cole. After she'd decided to see what her 'tricked-out' body could do, she'd spent a large portion of her time in the gym. Charley called it a 'natural side-effect' of the machines' primary function - which was to repair and maintain her bodily systems. Every time you pushed your body too hard, muscles, tendons, they would stretch and tear. In most humans it took days, even weeks to repair them which was the soreness you experienced after a long work-out. Sarah would just eat enough for two grown men, fall asleep, and wake up stronger.

Unfortunately, the machines couldn't seem to decide what wear and tear was work-out related versus age related. They were slowly modifying her body into what they deemed it's 'optimum configuration'. Apparently being almost 40 wasn't 'optimum'.

"You think I give a shit about that?!" Yanking her arm out of Cole's grip, all Sarah could think of was that she had to get to John. It all depended on him, everything did.

"He does!" Finally snapping back, Cole didn't care if it did get her laid out, she'd tackle Sarah if she had to, "He'll be fine, Sarah. Charley says there doesn't... well there doesn't look like there is any damage to the spinal cord, at least as far as he can tell. But the discs... like I said, he's in a lot of pain."

"He needs me!" Yelling loud enough to attract the attention of half a dozen civilians, Sarah severely wanted to knock some sense into Darla, or at least enough to get her out of her damn way.

"He needs his _WIFE_!" Practically screaming the words, Cole hated saying them ten times as much as Sarah hated hearing them. Still the older woman's eyes widened at the realization that Darla might be right, "Whose name do you think he was screaming when he came to on the gurney? Huh? Jesus, Sarah..."

Ceasing her struggling almost as quickly as she'd started it, Sarah came to the sickening realization that Darla was right. Hell, she could almost picture John screaming out for his bride. "Does she know?"

"I was just about to tell her." Motioning towards the entrance, Darla slowly turned to where she'd seen Cameron and Lorne before, "I had Dooley hold them up...wait, what the hell?"

* * *

April 1st, 2011 (Judgment Day)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
1942hrs

"Um, Cameron…Did we go down that way or…" Looking clearly confused, Rachel glanced down at her ghostly white hand, wondering if and when she should start worrying about the lack of bloodflow caused by the vice like grip her friend had on it. "What did that guy say again?"

"He said that civilians with a last name beginning with A through L should go to hallway B4. Those with names M through Z should use hallway B3." Glancing up, Cameron only darted her eyes back to the floor as she saw more civilians approaching them for information. Apparently Sarah had thought it would be 'funny' to inform many of the civilians that Cameron was John's wife, and thus would be happy to answer any questions they might have. The elder Connor had made it clear just how much she appreciated being put in charge of corraling the aimless group, and had apparently decided to repay John's orders by making the cyborg even more uncomfortable.

For three years, Cameron's emotional development had proceeded slowly, albeit with short leaps forward that she was forced to deal with at certain points. But up until her breakdown a few weeks prior, the worst experiences had been comparitively easy to deal with. A half-hour bout of uncontrollable laughter the first time she'd seen the gopher from Caddyshack had left her shaken, not at all easy with her first exposure to bodily reactions she had no control over. Over time though, with her John's assistance, she had learned to take comfort and even enjoyment from her fledgling emotions. It brought a sense of wonder and excitement to everyday activities. Her husband assured her that she had even managed to develop her own unique sense of humor.

_One that he and Rachel seemed the only ones capable of understanding_... but, still.

Then shortly after her marriage to the man who had not only saved her from a life of pointless slavery, but had patiently guided her in her quest to discover just how much more she could be, it was like an avalanche had been set in motion. Many of the more negative aspects of human emotion had begun to manifest themselves for the first time. Anger. Aggression. Frustration. Cruelty.

She had taken a visceral delight in beating the mercenary who had nearly killed her husband to death. Not just because she killed him, but because she'd taken the time to make sure he suffered every bit as much as John had. Next, when they'd arrived back at the compound, Cameron had rapidly descended further and further into a realm she had no idea how to deal with.

Looking back, she should have admitted to John what was happening... but at the time it had appeared that her husband was drifting away more with every passing moment, and Cameron had been terrified of what might happen if he realized she was malfunctioning. Defective.

So she'd done her best to hold it inside, to hide the things she was feeling. But as the tension within her mounted, it had become harder and harder to entirely suppress. She'd smashed one of his hard drives in a fit of anger the second he'd slipped from the room after a disagreement. Even when they were making love, that inner anger had begun to slip through. That morning in the bathroom, Cameron had been very near violence when Darla had interrupted them to announce Perry's surprise arrival.

Again, she should have confided in John. She should have realized that everything was building up to the inevitable. Her own systems had been practically screaming at her that if she didn't resolve these newfound impulses they were going to tear her apart.

Her CPU's 'solution' had been as admirably simple as it was novel. She had begun sleeping.

In a valiant effort to allow the cyborg to work through what she was now experiencing, it had literally developed the machine equivilent of a sub-conscious from scratch. If she hadn't been as overwhelmed at the time, so worried John would leave her if he found out just how far down the rabbit hole she'd gone... she might have embraced the development as a sort of salvation, even if it was accompanied by the occassional nightmare.

Unfortunately it had only made things worse for her. Convinced it was simply a sign that she was getting worse, Cameron had refused to repeat the process, and just as with a human who refuses to allow their mind's systems to 'reboot' often enough, everthing had built up to it's inevitable conclusion.

Looking back, it was such a silly fight that had sent her husband storming off to sleep on the couch in the barracks. She had felt rejected and frustrated when he'd broken his promise to spend the night with her, and decided that an attempt to relieve her stress through dance was more important than the war-preparation tasks his men were conducting downstairs. John had understandably tried to calm her down, which ironically had only increased her aggitation. In the end though, if it hadn't been because of that, it would have been something else. Cameron's aggitation and discomfort had grown to the point nearly everything anyone did made her angry.

Then he'd arrived home drunk and reaking of smoke, apparently bouyed by the 'tough talk' of his soldiers that he had been treated unfairly and needed to stand up for himself. Confronting an angry and emotionally unstable cyborg had proven to be about as good an idea as one would think, and when he'd snapped at her best friend... something within Cameron followed suit.

She would never forget the look on her John's face as she slammed him backwards into the wall, his face reddening as her fingers tightened around his windpipe. She would never erase the memory of his eyes... there was no fear, no anger... just sorrow. He had _apologized._Her husband had taken the blame for her state entirely onto his own shoulders, blaming himself for not being there when she needed him most.

And that, more than anything, had finally opened the floodgates.

In that one moment, something primal had shifted within Cameron's mind. It was as if the final wall between her logic centers and her newly awakened emotions had been utterly destroyed in the space of a second, and she felt... everything. It was the most terrifying moment of her entire existence.

The cyborg had felt like a raw nerve. Even the slightest stimulation, good or bad, brough on a rush of feeling that she couldn't seem to process quickly enough before the next wave assaulted her systems. She couldn't keep up, she couldn't adjust, it was like she was drowning and no matter how hard she fought she couldn't get her head back above the surface.

Emotions she had no perspective of outside of John were suddenly just _there._ Fear being the primary among them. Her threat alerts had been going off so wildly that she'd actually had to deactivate the system just to concentrate on what was going on around her. Anxiety was a near-constant companion when her husband wasn't nearby, despite Rachel's best efforts to keep her friend relaxed and comfortable.

John had assured her that she would adapt, and Cameron really did try to believe him. Her systems had already been attempting to compensate when she had fought tooth and nail against them, and he seemed confident that if she simply gave herself time and, the word was still bitter even with her CPU, slept... she would eventually be able to handle these emotions as well as she had their earlier, less potent versions.

Still, the cyborg felt like she was crawling out of her synthetic skin as dozens of people she didn't know and frankly wanted nothing to do with passed by too close for comfort, jostling her out of her thoughts.

"A…L…H4. Um…" A blush rapidly rising up her cheeks, Lorne started tugging her friend off in a random direction while hoping for the best. Up until now her illiteracy hadn't really hindered her all that much. No real reason to read the serial number off a tin can while you're blowing its head off after all, but she had a feeling it would come back to bite her in the ass the more they stayed in this military run bunker.

Cameron frowned, wanting to get to John as soon as possible, stopping Rachel in her tracks, "This isn't the right door, Rachel. We should have turned left two passages ago. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes I'm…" Rachel snapped before reeling herself in and staring at her friend a little disbelieving, "Why didn't you tell me that five minutes ago, Cameron?"

"That little girl kept trying to tug on my dress." Looking down at the garment, the cyborg was sullen at it's rumpled state, "I wanted John to be happy to see me. I should clean up before we go to the command center."

"That little girl was just scared, she wanted somebody to help her." Again, Rachel looked down at her hand, pretty much giving up hope of having any feeling in it for the next few minutes, "But if we could've found your quarters a little earlier, you could've gone to see John sooner."

Looking at the signs on the walls, Cameron frowned as she tugged Rachel off in the direction of what would be the Officer's Quarters, "I've been... distracted. You know I have difficulty sleeping without John."

Wincing from the tightened grip on her hand, Rachel's eyes softened after a moment. She reached out to lift Cameron's chin just a fraction, "Cameron…we're all busy. You might have to wait until tonight before you can sleep. Once we're all settled in, then I'm sure John will be home to keep you company."

A large part of Cameron wanted to storm off to the Command Center and simply demand that John come 'home' so that she could get her much-needed rest, but was conscious enough of the consequences to force it down. For now. "The timing of my development could have been better. I never wanted to be a burden to John."

"Cameron!" Standing up in a rare show of defiance, Rachel took on the kind one would expect from Sarah instead of the usually reserved soldier, "Enough! You need to listen to me. You are no one's burden. You didn't ask for this to happen to you, and it's definitely not your fault. John gets that, and that's why he asked me to help out until things get settled down."

Forcing a smile that wasn't exactly convincing, Cameron nodded shakily, "Thank you, Rachel."

"No problem." Slowly releasing Cameron's hand, she was pleased when the cyborg didn't immediately try to snatch it back up. "Look, we'll sort this out later. Let's just concentrate on finding your quarters, 'kay?"

"They're on level one, room three!" Rounding the corner at something close to a jog, Cole glared at both of the women in the hall like they'd just personally insulted her, "What's going on here?"

"Nothing you need to be worried about, we were just leaving. Come on, Cameron." Immediately recoving Cameron's hand, Lorne spared a glance at Darla as she brushed past her, feeling no resistance from the cyborg as she pulled her along the hall.

"Cameron!" For probably the first time since they met, Darla used the cyborg's given name, walking up and placing a hand on her shoulder, "I need to talk to you."

"Not now Cole, Cameron just wants to get to her new home, alright?" Lorne started tugging again, but this time felt her arm stretch. Cameron apparently wanted to hear the Major out, not that she could think of a single good reason to do so herself.

Sighing, Darla stepped forward slowly, as if dealing with a wild animal, "You're needed downstairs, Cameron. I have orders."

"From who?" Cameron enquired with a confused expression taking up residence on her face. The only person who could give Major Cole orders was… "John! Where is he?"

"You'd know that if you had been doing your job!" Snapping before her brain could catch up, Cole glared at the cyborg, deciding that was an argument best left for another time. "He was injured."

Cameron's eyes widened, her head tilting to the side in a jerky fashion as if she was struggling to process what she'd just been told, "In…injured?"

"He led the charge into the lower levels," Her voice accusing with every breath, Cole closed the distance between them, "I was mopping up the last area. He had no one to protect him, to cover his ass. He got ambushed! Do you get me?!"

"Injured?" Cameron hadn't processed a word of what Darla had just said, she was too busy trying to control her wildly fluctuating emotions. Varying between worry, anger and blind panic, she settled for looking pleadingly at Rachel, "John?"

Rachel glared at the Operator, squeezing Cameron's hand tightly in hers, "He's fine. I'm sure of it. After all, he wanted to spend this first night with you right? Didn't you just say you had big plans for him?"

Cameorn's head suddenly snapped around, as if something had awoken, some sort of instinct within her that she needed to find her John. He was injured, she had to get to him. Her head turned side to side, her tactical systems kicking in and guiding her on the best path to the infirmary. Without any hesitation, she set off in that direction, ignoring Rachel's yelp of pain as she yanked her behind, muttering to herself softly, "Need to get to John…"

Looking around at the soldiers and civilians as they gawked at the sight, Darla panicked, "Wait!"

Grabbing Cameron's shoulder, she tried in vain to turn the cyborg around, "He needs you, but he needs you to be normal even more!"

Shruggin the hand off her shoulder, Cameron barely slowed down, her head scanning side to side, threat detections going wild in her vision as she stormed towards the infirmary. To her it couldn't have been more simple in that moment. "John needs me, I can't let anything happen to him."

"He'll be fine!" Snapping, Cole bounded around in front of Cameron, blocking her path. "He just needs you to take care of him! He'll live!"

For once, Cameron's eyes came back into focus. She saw nothing but the obtacle in her path. She didn't notice Rachel trying to prise her fingers off her own, she didn't see the confused stares from everyone around them, all she could focus on was Darla, "Move."

"Fuck that!" Snarling, Darla stepped up into the usually passive cyborg's face, "He needed you and you weren't there! Now he's hurt and you want to pretend you give a fuck?! Back off and do your job, wifey!"

It was odd, replaying the experience later, Cameron literally could not pinpoint a specific moment where she'd made the decision to act. Perhaps this was the closest thing she had to what humans called 'instinct'? One moment she'd simply been standing there in front of Darla, the next her right hand was already flying through the air, her targeting systems pinpointing the exact spot to do the most damage without it being lethal. Or so she hoped...

Before the Operator could even let out a startled yelp, let alone attempt to defend herself, her head was snapping back as if it were mounted on springs, a nearly solid stream of blood thrown free of her shattered nose at the force of the impact splashing across the panneling running the length of the wall as she tumbled backwards onto the tile floor. It was a hard impact, the soldier having been unconscious even before she'd hit the deck.

Ignoring the startled outcry not only from Rachel but from a few of the surrounding civilians, Cameron simply stepped over the unconscious heap and set off towards the infirmary again. She'd been wanting to do that for a long time, and any other time would probably have taken a few moments to enjoy the sensations coursing through her chip. But John needed her, and nothing was going to stop her.

* * *

April 1st, 2011 (Judgment Day)  
Fort Bliss, Texas  
1st Armored Division  
23:11hrs

Stopping in his tracks not a half-step into the rec area, Captain Stacey Beaumonde's reflexes apparently hadn't gotten that much duller with age, allowing him to easily duck his head to the side and narrowly avoid the flying hacky sack that smacked into the door behind him. Glowering at the driver of one of his platoon's Abrams, he snatched the offending bean-filled nemisis up off the floor and tossed it up once with a smirk, "Culkin! What did I say was gonna happen the next time this thing almost hit me?"

Sighing, Culkin flipped the bird behind his back at his best friend and least-favorite asshole, Corporal Phelps. Listening to him laughing was bad enough, but knowing what was coming only made it worse, "You said you'd stick the contents where the sun don't shine, sir!"

Rolling his eyes, the Captain flipped the bag into the air a few more times as he sauntered lazily into the room, "I think we'll settle for me keeping it... this time."

Ignoring the way the Corporal exhaled in relief a second after he passed him, Beaumonde cocked his head to the side in search of his gunner, "Cholo! You were supposed to meet me fifteen minutes ago! We've been putting off that maintenance check for two weeks and Battalion is riding my ass!"

"Sorry, Cap…Dammit!" Jamming his finger in his mouth to try and numb the pain from the electric shock, Michael Chang slid out from under the busted ass TV they relied on for entertainment. "I've kinda got my hands full here, sir. Conan starts in like twenty minutes!"

If they hadn't all been coming off the tour from hell, the Captain would likely have been far less amused, but as it stood he just wandered over and thumped the side of the ancient box TV with his boot, "Finally gave out on you, huh? You did the best you could, kid, but that thing is almost as old as you."

Face scrunching up, Chang stared up at the patched and crosswired innards of old faithful like they were his only child. "I can fix her, sir. She can live again."

"You do realize that almost everyone in here has a laptop and wifi they can watch Conan on, right?" When his gunner stuck his head out with a wide-eyed look of surprise, Beaumonde folded his arms over his chest and put on his best 'I'm the Captain and don't forget it' look, "Hey! I can know what wifi is... not that old."

Giving his old TV one last look of regret, Chang rolled out from underneath it and stood up, gently patting the chipped and cracked plastic along the top, "Sorry, girl. I guess technology just got the best of you."

"Uh... sir?" Waiting for the Captain to face him, Culkin wasn't sure if it was too soon to brave a bitch, but decided the idea of spending the night with absolutely no entertainment was worth the risk, "Before you go running off with Mikey, speaking of the wifi... it's been down all day."

"You're just pissed because you can't Skype your girlfriend, Zach!" Private Thorn was imminently glad the hacky sack of death had been confiscated when the other man pivoted just long enough to glare at him before turning back to his superior.

The Captain held both hands out, slowly pointing them between himself and the rest of the world, "You're lookin' at me like that's my problem! Old guy, remember? Can't fix that shit."

"But Cholo can, sir." Culkin looked at Beaumonde like it should be obvious, "That's why he fixes the TV, sir. He's good at it, I mean, just look at him. He's..."

When Chang stood with an unamused look on his face practically begging the other man to finish his thought with the wrong word, Culkin just shrugged, "Smart."

"Nice save, dick." Rolling his eyes, Chang gave his TV one last pat before turning to the Captain. "WiFi or tank, sir?"

"Sorry kids, Corporal Chang can't come out and play tonight. He's got homework." Rolling his eyes again at the chorus of groans that greeted his anouncement, the Captain just thanked God that his men were better fighters than soldiers, "What's wrong with the damn thing anyways, Mike? Screen's still up."

"Not sure, sir." Crouching down in front of the box that looked more like it belonged in the 90's, Chang gave it a whack on the side out of sheer frustration and hope. "Signal's coming through, it just looks…messed up. I thought it was the connection to the dish, but it's fine. I dunno, it's weird."

"I'll see what I can do about getting us something a little more this century in the morning, Cholo." Slapping the gunner on the shoulder, he motioned to Culkin, "Come on Corporal. If you can't talk to your girlfriend, you might as well help with the system checks."

Groaning, the Corporal pulled himself up out of the battered old chair he'd been calling home for the last few hours. "Hey boss, how come you call him Cholo, anyway? He's asian…and his name's Chang!"

"He's from LA and shoots a giant gun out of a moving vehicle." Rolling his eyes, Beaumonde regretted giving the kid that nickname more and more every time a new guy got transfered in and he had to explain it, "It's one of those ironic nicknames, Patrick. You know, like when we call you Einstein."

"Yeah, why do you call me Einstein?" Looking more than a little confused as he trudged along behind the captain and, well, the asian guy with the Spanish name, Patrick realised he still had a lot to work out about this unit he'd been transferred to.

"Well, kid, it mostly has to do with..." Beaumonde's voice trailed off when the lights in the building cut out mid-sentence. Drifting blindly towards the door knob, the Captain just hoped he didn't smack into the wall, "Cholo? You'd better not have been screwing with the electrical again! The engineers don't like that."

"Swear it's not me boss…not this time anyway." Blindly moving froward, Chang cursed when his shoulder smacked into the cabinet by the door, "Dammit, anybody got a light? Cell phone? Anything?"

As if on cue, the dull emergency lights finally kicked on, allowing the men to at least navigate their way to the door and out into the street. Glancing around, Beaumonde rubbed his face at the blackness surrounding from every direction as other soldiers from nearby buildings emerged too, "God I hope so... if we knocked out the entire base, I'm in for a very unhappy meeting tomorrow."

"Hey uh, Cholo, Chang, whatever…come look at this." A fraction later than needed, Culkin had pulled out his phone to help them navigate. Now though as he shielded the screen from the glare of the emergency lights, he noticed something odd, "I've got no signal. Network's dead."

"Dead? Dude, I get five bars in the basement here." Snagging the phone from the man's hand, he frowned when he confirmed what he was saying. Pulling his own phone out, he found it trying to reestablish a connection with the network as well. It would have been odd to begin with, but was made even moreso by the fact both had different carriers, "Um, sir? You got your phone on you?"

Pulling out a phone that more closely resembled a calculator than an actual phone, Beaumonde ignored the questioning looks as he handed over his faithful old Nokia. "Dunno, you tell me."

"Wow... this thing still use Morse Code?" Handing the device back with a shake of his head, Chang could only shrug, "Sorry, sir."

Rolling his eyes, the captain glared as he switched the screen on, confirming he had no signal either. "I got nothing on here either, not even dots and dashes. What's going on, Chang? TV, wireless, lights and now this? Can't all be coincidence."

"Seriously, something technical breaks and everyone looks to the Chinese guy?" After a moment of awkward silence, Mike smiled and shook his head, "Hey, I know I'm good, sir - but this is even beyond my wizard like skills to figure out. Could be a solar flare or something I guess. A bad one could knock out all kinds of systems."

"Solar flare? What is this, Star Trek?" Laughing more to himself than the others, Culkin looked up, as if he'd be able to see it when something he recognised buzzed overhead, "Uh sir? What's that?"

"The calvary, I guess." Smirking, the Captain shook his head, "Military equipment is hardened to withstand stuff like flares and EMPs - might explain why that drone is still flying. Looks like a new model. You recognize it, Cholo?"

"No…" Squinting and shielding his eyes from the sun, the Corporal couldn't pick out any features her recognised. Something about all this didn't smell right, "It's nothing we're using, sir. Or anybody else for that matter. Could be a prototype."

"I've never seen a drone hover like that." Sensing the same thing his gunner was, Beaumonde took a step back towards the building on instinct, ""Looks like a minature Osprey..."

Shaking his head, Chang had to disagree with his superior, "It looks more like a fucking Cylon, sir."

Not noticing the two men beside him backing towards the building, Culkin moved further out into the open to get a better look, "Seems smaller than a drone…Must be some next gen stuff they're testing out."

"Corporal..." Keeping his voice low and calm, the Captain put a steadying hand on his gunner when he took a half-step forward to go get the new guy, shaking his head as he kept backing up, "Why don't you get back inside?"

"Sir?" Chang asked, still staring up at the odd looking aircraft. He could swear it was getting closer, lower to the ground.

Maybe it was the years of combat training, or the fact they'd spent a lot of time surrounded by insurgents who looked just like everyone else... but Captain Beaumonde knew when something was about to make a move on him, and he could feel it in his blood as the sleek silver UCAV spun in a tight circle and kept it's steady descent towards their barracks, "Culkin! I said get in the fucking building, soldier!"

"Yes sir, be right there." Still staring up, oddly transfixed by the way the drone moved, almost elegant, graceful. These tech guys and engineers certainly knew their stuff to be able to make something move like that.

Unfortunately, that was the last thought that ever crossed his mind as a 20mm rocket detatched seemlessly from under the wing of the UCAV and streaked downwards, catching the Corporal in center mass and detonating in a flash of fire, blood, and smoke. The tankers scattered on instinct, diving behind anything that might offer cover as the Captain pulled his gunner by the collar and both landed behind the dubious protection of a wooden fence. Chang looked to his CO for answers, only to find the older man gasping as her tied to pull a red-hot piece of shrapnel from his upper arm, "Sir?!"

"It's fine!" Growling as he tossed the chunk of steel to the ground with a hiss, Beaumonde shook his hand out to ease the burn in his fingertips, his arm the least of his worries, "Everyone up! We're under attack! Get to your tanks!"

"Sir... I..."

"That's an order, Corporal!" Stumbling to his feet, the Captain literally dragged his second in command behind him by the collar as another UCAV streaked in, hot lead dusting the road at their feet with every step. _When the hell had they started putting machine guns on those things?!_He could sense the others following as best they could, and hear the shrieks of the few who weren't fast enough to avoid the enemy fire raining down from above. None of it phased him as he caught sight of the garage up ahead and the welcome protection of their small fleet of Abrams. "Almost there!"

More famous last words had never been spoken, as two more of the silvery bastards chose that exact moment to crest the roof of the very building the group had been running to and the relative safety of the Abrams nestled inside. Looking almost unhurried in their apparent task of butchering everyone within sight, they dropped the thirty feet from the roof to slightly above the heads of the soldiers now scrambling for cover and hovered between them and their vehicles almost mockingly.

"Down, down, DOWN!" Sprinting off to the side in a small cluster of men, Beaumonde hit a baseball slide just as the first missile was let fly, the son of a bitch flying so close past his head the exhaust singed his his hair in passing. The other had alread opened fire on a group making for cover in the opposite direction, a parked Humvee exploding down the side-street in a torrent of fire and shrapnel.

At this rate they weren't going to last very long. Explosions could be heard all across the base as more and more of those... things, swept in from what seemed like every direction at the same time. They weren't all that large, and didn't seem to be carrying that much in the way of ordnance, but with numbers like this they honestly didn't need to.

Just as he was contemplating that, the UCAV which had been tracking him swivelled on it's invisible axis and swung around just enough to gain a clear line of sight between it and the Captain's position hunkered down in the narrow alley between buildings. He was trapped, no where to go but forward or backwards, and at that point neither option would save his life. The worst part? He was about to bite it never knowing just who the hell it was that was killing him...

The machine pivoted as it made a minute adjustment to it's angle, lining up the perfect shot... a half second before it's wing exploded under the impact of a burst of .50 caliber machinegun fire. Quickly losing control, the UCAV entered a spin as it desperately tried to adjust for the loss of half it's verticle thrust and one of it's stabalizers. It was too little too late, especially when it started that close to the ground. Impacting on it's other wing, that snapped off as well, a trail of flames following it as it came to a skidding halt just a foot shy of Beaumonde's boots.

Glancing down at the scorched and battered machine as it's optical suite went dark, Stacey couldn't help but notice the bright blue S emblazoned on the side with 'Stryker Logistics: A Division of ZeiraCorp' scrawled beneath it. "It's American?"

Before he had a chance to dwell on that stark realization, a second drone off to his right exploded under sustained weapons fire, a single Abrams crashing through the still-smoldering Humvee blocking the entrance to the garage and coming to a halt in front of him, smoke still rising from the barrel of the .50 caliber Remote Weapons Station as it swivelled back and forth in search of more targets.

With a grunt, a soldier with a large black scorchmark across the side of his uniform hefted himself through the hole of the loader's gun machinegun station, swiping the sweat out of his eyes with one gloved hand, "Cap, that you?!"

"Embry?" Hopping up onto the side of the vehicle so he could hear the man over the roar of the engine, Beaumonde couldn't help but grin at the man who had just saved his ass. "So, looks like one of us actually made it in for the maintenence check!"

"Yeah," The Sergeant just smiled as the soldiers surrounding the building poured in to man their waiting vehicles, hastily loading everything they could find at hand, "Where the hell were you?"

"It's a long story man, listen, we..." The Captains words were abruptly cut off as an unnaturally bright flash caught his attention from behind in the direction of the city... the kind you just couldn't mistake for anything but what it was. "Holy shit..."

Both men stared, transfixed, until a second detonation erupted, much closer this time. Beaumonde wasn't about to wait for the shock-wave to arrive. "Pile in! Everyone, NOW!"

Shouting from his place at the gunner's station, Sergeant Embry looked around helplessly - random friendly drone attacks followed by nuclear exchanges weren't exactly his day-to-day, "What the hell do we do, sir?!"

"Seal up and pray your overpressure system is working!" The Captain didn't even bother to look back as he sprinted for his vehicle so full-out he nearly tripped and fell onto his face. Pushing off the ground with both hands without missing a step, he vaulted up the side of his own Abrams, diving into the open Commander's hatch. The pressure wave was hot on his trail and he nearly lost a finger slamming and sealing the hatch behind him, just as the entire vehicle rocked with the force slamming into them and the surrounding building. Luckily, the base itself hadn't been the target or they wouldn't have even seen it coming, but after two blasts that size... the city...

Shoving his way to the viewer, Beaumonde swiped the sweat from his eyes before turning the unit on, thrilled the hardened systems had apparently withstood the resulting EMP when they sprung to life immeadiately. Surprisingly, the drones apparently hadn't fared as well, a half-dozen of the little bastards dropped from the sky like lead bricks and smashed into the road and surrounding buildings only adding the the devastation of the scene.

He sat there for nearly ten minutes, waiting for the inevitable, waiting for the next flash that would be the last thing any of them would ever see... but apparently the enemy, whoever they were, were more concerned with hitting population centers than military facilities, or they'd figured the drone strike would be enough to finish them off by itself. If they hadn't been taken out by the blast, it probably would have.

Slowly pulling back from the station, Stacey let himself collapse against the cool steel of the wall behind him, his head sagging forward into his hands. "Kill the engines... we'll ride it out here until the dust clears, then load up and see if we can help."

After obeying the Captain's orders, Corporal Chang sidled up beside him, a shell-shocked look on his visage that Beaumonde was sure he was mirroring, "Sir, w... what the hell just happened?"

Shaking his head, the older man reached over and patted his shoulder a few times, his voice sounding oddly distant even to his own ears, "We just got our asses kicked, kid. That's what happened."

* * *

April 1st, 2011 (Judgment Day)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
1947hrs

"C, Cameron, wait up!" Still in a state of shock at what she'd just seen, Rachel jogged after Cameron, the cyborg having stormed off at a frantic pace after popping Cole, "You have to slow down!"

"Are you going to try to stop me too?" Despite her panic, Cameron's words came out surprisingly cold to her friend's ears, the implied threat very clear.

"No, I'm not." Jogging up beside her, for the moment, admittedly scary friend, Rachel had to resist the urge to grab her arm. She had no desire to end up like Cole, sprawled out in the hallway with what was most likely a broken nose and a concussion, "But John doesn't need you angry when you get in there."

"I'm not angry at John." Shaking her head so hard her hair waved side to side, Cameron's hands were yanking at her dress in aggitation, the blood from Cole's nose working it's way into the garment in the process, "He needs me. She... she tried to stop me from helping him. I had no choice."

Rachel didn't like lying to her friend, but in that moment, it was almost automatic, "I know you didn't, sweetie. But you going steaming in there looking like that is only going to get him worried about you. That's the last thing John needs."

Pausing just around the corner from where the signs told her the infirmary was, Cameron quirked her head to the side as she turned to her friend, as if for the first time realizing she might not look utterly pristine, "How... how do I appear?"

Sighing, Rachel slowly, gingerly, and very carefully took Cameron's right hand in hers, using her own free hand to brush a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. Taking the hand, she used her shirt to wipe away the blood from her knuckles as gently as she could. "You don't look perfect, sweetie. But you need to try and calm down before you see him. He'll know something's up if you're mad."

Nodding, she made a visible effort to relax herself before rounding the corner, only to nearly barge face-first into a guard in an Air Force uniform blocking the entrance to the infirmary, "Please move."

Glancing down at the girl who almost bumped into his chest, mostly down her dress, Thompson sighed and repeated the words he'd uttered three times already since his duty started, "No unauthorised personnel ma'am. Major Cole's orders."

In a move eerily reminiscent of a horror movie, the girl's left hand twitched as if she were having to control the impulse to harm something, glancing up from under her bangs slowly with just the smallest tilt of her head, "Do you know who I am, Airman?"

"No, and I don't much care neither." Sighing again, Thompson stepped further in front of the door, ready to move the pair of them along, "Now if you'll please move along Miss."

In a flash, literally, as the smallest flash of blue crossed Cameron's eyes as that hand became a fist, Rachel knew what was about to happen. A small part of her idly wondered if that was Cameron's targeting systems locking on as the cyborg took a step forward and narrowed her eyes, "I said..."

"Step aside, Thompson." Cigar already hanging out of his mouth as he stepped across the threshold, Huey didn't seem to notice Rachel's hand desperately taking hold of Cameron's wrist. If he did, he didn't say anything, "She's the big guy's wife. Let her through."

Glancing up, Cameron eyed the Texan like a target for termination for a moment before her features relaxed slightly, the small hand rubbing circles on her back helping. It's not that she felt a need for violence, in fact, she was having difficulty understanding where these impulses were coming from.

She just needed to get to John. To help him... and these people refused to listen. Frankly, it was taking most of her willpower to keep from sobbing in the hallway, which might have explained why her anger had such free reign, "You shouldn't be smoking in the infirmary, Mr. Hendrix... especially with John being injured."

"That's why I came outside, ma'am." Lighting up, Huey nodded at Rachel quickly before moving Thompson aside with an outstretched arm. He of all people knew how…unstable the cyborg could be, and despie how put together she looked out here, he could tell by the look on Rachel's features that she was having a tough time keeping her friend calm. "Go on inside, but I gotta warn ya, he's not in a talkin' mood right now."

Leaning into Huey's side as Cameron eyed the door handle like it would bite her, ironically reluctant to complete the task she'd just stormed towards like a soldier at Normandy, Rachel lowered her voice with a frown, "We need a medic, now. Cameron... she laid Darla out in a tunnel back there."

Suddenly feeling nervous about being so close to John's wife, he stepped back out of her way on impulse, hoping Thompson didn't overhear that, "I'll take care of it, Corporal."

With that, he reached out and opened the door that Cameron seemed so afraid of entering, disappearing a second later in search of one of Charley's newly appointed staff.

Glancing nervously after the fleeing soldier, Rachel knew she had to do some serious damage control, and John was here for Cameron now, even if he was injured. Laying a hand on the cyborg's shoulder, she gave a gentle push, "Go on, Sweetie. I'm gonna go... make sure Cole is alright. Go see John."

She didn't want to, God she really didn't want to, but Cameron reluctantly let go of Rachel's hand and nodded. Suddenly feeling very alone, she stepped ever so slowly into the room where she knew John lay - injured, alone, maybe afraid. It didn't make her feel better to know he wasn't alone in that regard.

Stepping forward, she surveyed the room, seeking out either John or a familiar face. Thankfully, she found Charley dixon treating a soldier she didn't recognise on a gurney near the far wall. Picking her way through the scattered boxes of supplies and a few medical staff, she finally reached him, her voice coming out small and barely audible, "Where's John?"

Looking up from his task, Charley looked exhausted and more than a little shaken, wiping his hands on the front of his t-shirt and motioning to the corner of the room with his chin where a privacy curtain was pulled around a bed, "I'm glad you're here."

Eyeing the curtain like it really did have some sort of wizard behind it like in John's favorite story, Cameron snapped her eyes back to Charley, a very real tremble in her voice, "How badly is he hurt?"

"That's why I'm glad you're here..." Pulling Cameron off to one side, he was a bit shocked at the way the cyborg simply complied with the gentle tug, "I'm not sure. Without diagnostic equipment, all I know for sure is that he herniated some disks. There is a lot of swelling in the connecting tissue... and possible spinal cord damage."

"Possible?" Glancing again at the curtain, Cameron fought the genuine fear that gripped her, mostly brought on by the fact that the man John thought of as a father wasn't even sure how bad the damage was.

"Like I said, I'm not sure." Charley looked more than a little ashamed at what he considered a colossal failure, one that might even leave John paralyzed. "If it's bad enough, we'll have to act to relieve the pressure or he could lose feeling, motion..."

"Then act." Stating it like it was that easy, Cameron couldn't understand why Charley hadn't done what needed to be done already. Why was he delaying? This was John he was talking about, the most important person the world had ever known. Would ever know. "Fix him."

"If I do, and mess it up, I could do more harm than good, Cameron. Lets not forget, I'm not a 'real' doctor. I didn't go to medical school, which leaves my knowledge about stuff like this in the 'pretty limited' category." Looking downright terrified of the idea of cutting into John, Dixon pleaded with her, lowering his voice, "Can't you do something... machiney? Scan him? See if we need to do anything besides reduce the swelling?"

She'd once told Sarah that her systems weren't designed for that, body analysis was one thing, but injury detection was another. She wasn't a medical diagnostic unit, but her sensors were probably the nearest thing to it that Charley had at his disposal at the moment, "Where is he?"

Slowly leading Cameron over towards the bed, he prepared her as best he could for what she was about to see, "We haven't been able to give him much for the pain. We need him to be able to feel so he can tell us where the damage is and make sure he isn't losing sensation. He... he's been a bit delusional."

Frowning momentarily, Cameron tried her best to force the whirlwind of emotions whipping through her mind as deep down as she could. She had no reference on how to handle this. John had always been her rock, helping her to cope with what she was feeling, but now she was beyond his help. Nodding slowly, she waited for Charley to pull the curtain back before forcing on her best half smile at the sight of her husband writhing in pain on the bed in front of her.

"Are you ready... to give me... the fucking shot now?!" Unable to turn over and see who had opened the curtain, John was forced to clutch at the gurney rail with his free hand, his shirt removed and his back and pants stained with random splotches of another man's blood.

"Not quite." Getting a half smile of his own, Charley looked to his side to find the man's wife rooted to the spot beside him. Frowning, he gave it a full ten count before he gave up waiting and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. He jumped when her eyes snapped up to him suddenly. Still though, after smiling kindly, he managed to lead her around to the other side of the gurney, "I brought you something better."

John let out a deep breath that sounded as if all the stress and anger he'd built up over the past few hours flowed out with it, his eyes softening and the muscles of his face visibly relaxing in a single moment. Before, he'd looked almost frighteningly like the General to Cameron. But Rachel was right, her John had always been a different man when he was with her. "Cameron..."

Feeling a nudge in her back from Charley, Cameron stepped forward, her expression torn between her desire to keep up a 'brave face' for her husband, and her true emotional state beneath the mask. "Hi…I, I missed you."

"I... I asked for you." Hissing a bit as a spasm tore through his back, John fought off the urge to glare at Charley, "They wouldn't tell me... where you were."

"I've been outside, the bus was delayed." Conveniently, she left out the part where she'd laid his best friend and second in command out only a few hallways back as she glanced at Charley. John grimaced again, his every torment only making her's worse. "You're in pain."

"They won't give me a shot." Fumbling for Cameron's hand, John's was shaking so badly he was having trouble holding it, "Charley says... I need to tell him where... it hurts. Cameron... it hurts _**everywhere**_!"

Gripping John's hand and squeezing as hard as she dared, Cameron looked pleadingly at the only man who could end his suffering, or at least halt it temporarily, "Give him something for the pain…please?"

Her eyes pleaded with him, her lip quivering as John struggled to squeeze her hand back.

"I told you, Cameron." Sounding entirely sympathetic, Charley pulled the privacy curtain back around them, "I can't until you tell me if he's in danger. If it was anyone else... I'd consider it. But if John loses the use of his legs? We're all dead."

Frowning, Cameron looked down between the man she loved, and her own hands, shaking almost as much as John's were. Charley was right, the thought of John losing the use of his legs filled her with a fear and dread that she had rarely ever known before. But the almost overriding thing that was stopping her was that she knew how much what she has to do to help would cause him even more pain. "John…I need to check your spine for damage. It…will hurt."

His eyes widening slightly, John focused on Cameron's face, taking a shuddering breath, "That bad... huh?"

Wanting to at least give him something to focus on, Cameron leaned down and dropped a soft kiss on his lips, keeping her eyes locked on his as her free hand snaked over his hip and down towards his spine. She couldn't help but smile when John did, glad her actions had releived him of at least some tension. "Rachel told me on the bus that our new room has a bathtub in it. It's small, and also a shower... but when you're better, would you like to share it with me?"

Grinning despite himself, John rested his forehead against his wife's, taking in a deep lungful of her scent, forgetting the entire world around them for just a moment, "You're ready to try again?"

As her fingers slowly manipulated the swelling around John's spine, Cameron's brow cinched together automatically, knowing exactly how not ready she was for anything more intimate than a platonic kiss. But still, she persisted with her attempts to distract him, knowing he likely wouldn't remember any of this after Charley sedated him. "We'll see. Your back must be given time to heal. You know you have trouble keeping up with me even when healthy."

Clenching against his wife, John barely bit back a cry when she ran over the swollen and angry mass where at least two discs had herniated in the fall, "I... I know! But I'm a quick... healer!"

"That's good…very good." Forcing a smile in an attempt to keep him calm and still, Cameron was grateful when Charley laid his hands on John's shoulder to keep him as still as possible. Her eyes flashing blue, Cameron seemed to look through him as her scans kicked in on their highest detail, all her sensors raised to their maximum, despite what might possibly happen when her senses began to be bombarded by everything, including John's scent.

"I still need... to talk to everyone. It's J-day... and I'm in bed." Chuckling without humor, John seized up when the movement pinched a nerve, his teeth clamping shut so hard if his tongue had been between them he'd have bitten straight through it. "SHIT!"

Eyes returning to their normal brown, Cameron stood up, immediately taking her hands off his spine. The brightest of smiles crossed her lips as she looked at Charley, relief flooding every thought, "Give him something for the pain."

Charley pulled back the curtain and immediately motioned a medic over with a snap of his fingers, "Get an IV in him now! Start off with Morphine for the pain, then try to hunt down those muscle relaxors from the manifest I gave you."

Chuckling, he motioned for Cameron to help him get John into a comfortable position, trying to keep him distracted with small-talk, "Speaking of which, just how big have you gotten now, Johnny? Gotta make sure the dose is right, and you've sure packed it on lately."

"One hundred and ninety two pounds." Cameron clarified helpfully, supporting the majority of that weight as she helped her husband roll onto his back.

"God, kid, planning on fighting Skynet with your fists?" Barely hiding his frown as John grit his teeth against the pain, Charley nodded when the nurse approached with the IV, "He's 192. And uh... 5' 10ish?"

"Six feet, Charley." John managed to grind out, eyeing the IV like it held the cure for cancer. "Five ten? Insulting. I'm not…not that short."

Motioning for the medic to step back, Charley hung the bag himself, prepping the drip with the Morphine, when John started to writhe a bit he hurried up, but still motioned for Cameron to distract him.

Taking the hint, and also John's hand, Cameron waited for her husband to look up at her before smiling warmly at him. In truth, she wanted him to have the pain relief as soon as possible, she also wanted to spare him from what she knew would happen once she lost those last few tenuous threads of her control. She could feel it building, and knew it wasn't going to be anything he'd want to see. Or more accurately, anything she wanted him to see. "Rachel said she'd spend the night with me tonight. I think she enjoys sleeping in your boxers and t-shirt almost as much as me."

Returning Cameron's smile, John paused long enough to nod gratefully as Charley finally found a vein in his hand and slid home the needle, "I appreciate everything she's doing. I..."

As if realizing he was about to be drugged unconscious for the first time, John's eyes widened. The war was only a few hours from beginning, and he wasn't there, wasn't doing his job, "Cole... where's Cole?"

Brow cinching together momentarily, Cameron fumbled about for a lie. It had been a long time since she'd needed that skill with John, and she hated herself for bringing it back agin, "She's…busy. There are a lot of people outside."

"I need her here." Already starting to relax, Cameorn couldn't tell if the drugs had hit John or if simply the knowledge they were on their way was enough to help, "Someone has to take over. We have a lot of work to do."

As much as it pained her to admit this, she knew it was the truth, her hand tightening around John's of it's own accord, "Major Cole is an accomplished commander. She knows every plan you set out for today and can react to unexpected situations. You need to rest."

"Does..." Lowering his voice, despite the fact the medic was walking away, John looked between his wife and the only real father he'd ever known, "Does mom know?"

"I don't know." She'd noticed Sarah and Cole talking, but hadn't been listening in. It was upon John's instruction that she hadn't, he never liked her eavesdropping on other people's conversations. "I saw Cole talking to her before Dooley let us come down here."

"I..." Focusing on the worried faces around him as the warm flood of good painkillers rushed through his body, John suddenly glanced down at the hand still clutched in his on his lap, "I fucked up. Didn't I?"

"No, of course not." She looked up at Charley, motioning for him to give them a little privacy as she leaned down to rest her head on his chest gently, looking up at him while she spoke, letting the rhythym of his heart wash over her. "You didn't fail, you did what you had to do."

"I got hurt by Air Force Security on my first day as leader of the Resistance." Unable to fight off a smirk, John reached out and stroked Cameron's hair a little clumsily, his fingertips feeling very faint, "How long... really, until I'll be back up and running, Cam?"

"I don't know, John. Charley will know more in a few days once the swelling has reduced." Smiling at the contact, Cameron was glad some things never changed between them, even with him having what could have been a life threatening injury, and her having been an emotional wreck for the past twenty-four hours, "You should rest until then."

"Okay..." His words starting to slur, John's eyes began to drift aimlessly around the enclosed space, "Cameron... do you think I'm crazy?"

Picking her head up off his chest, Cameron looked at him with a confused expression on her face. "No. Why would you say that?"

"Everyone thinks mom is crazy..." Letting his head drift back onto the pillow, John stared up at the ceiling, the hand in Cameron's hair slowing down, "Might be too. Thought I had a dream... about the future. I was... talking to _**him**_."

"John, you're in pain." Smiling sympathetically, worry started to creep back in to her voice, no matter how hard she tried to keep it out. "Charley said you were delusional, you must have been halucinating..."

"I wasn't." Shaking his head, Cameron was startled by the vehemence in his voice, "He was showing me... showing me what to do. To win the war... forever. I... I could see things... images...memories."

"John, calm down." Laying her hand on his chest, Cameron leaned down and dropped a kiss on his lips in an effort to calm his movements, the sedatives taking far too long to kick in for her liking. "You're confused…it's not possible for you to see the future. It's not..."

"Cameron..." Seeing just how sure his wife was of her words, John could only sigh and shake his head, flopping back and closing his eyes. It hurt to know that even those closest to you thought you were insane. And he'd done that to Sarah for years. "At least now I know... how mom feels..."

Still clinging to John's hand, Cameron looked down at the man she loved, seeing him so confused and helpless broke her metaphorical heart. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, all she could do was hope for a quick recovery, she didn't like feeling this alone. "You're not crazy, John. You're my husband. I love you."

"I love you too." Smiling slightly, it looked like John tried to say something else, but his lips trailed off without any sound coming out, the fingers still entwined in hers now utterly limp as his breathing evened out.

Sliding the curtain aside slowly, Charley slipped in to check the instruments monitoring John. Seeing him unconscious, he cleard his throat softly, trying not to startle his wife, "Maybe we should give him some space to rest. You can pull up a chair for the night if you like."

"Is... is he... stable?" In the dimness of the curtained off area, Charley could literally see the tremors along the cyborg's back as her entire body began to shake.

"Stable enough now that the sedatives are in his system. Cameron…he really needs to be..."

"Get out!" No one but her John was allowed to see her in the kind of state she could feel coming on. She'd held everything in for too long, and now the dam was about to break, "_NOW_!"

"Cameron, I'm not just going to…" Trailing off as he saw her eyes burn a bright blue against John's chest, Charley stepped back slowly, knowing he couldn't force her to leave if she didn't want to.

It took all of Cameron's willpower to keep the wracking sobs her body was undergoing from harming John's back further, feeling the still-alien sensation of tears pouring down her cheeks and nose as she snuggled further into his chest. Desperate for his scent, for his heartbeat, "Please be alright... please, John..."

Taking in a deep breath, Charley looked out over his infirmary to see Major Cole sitting on the gurney he had left her on, her face a mess and her eyes burning holes in the girl who had brought her in. Charley made his way over to said woman, sliding up beside Lorne with a frown, "Cameron's in there with him. I didn't think I'd ever see anything like that. She…well, she's crying."

Looking up from under her bangs, it was Cole who responded, both eyes steadily blackening around the swollen mass of a clearly broken nose, "SHE'S cwying? The bitch just bwoke my ucking nose!"

"Quit whining, Cole." By now Rachel had enough of this day. Oddly enough all she wanted was to curl up in bed with her best friend and hope tomorrow would be a better. An odd thought when the world was ending tonight."You deserved it for trying to stop her from seeing her husband."

"I was twying to pwevent THIS!" Pointing a bloody hand at the privacy curtain, Darla thought this more than proved her point, "It's not nowmal!"

Rolling her eyes, Rachel pushed herself up off the counter and made her way over towards the curtain. "Cameron, sweetie, it's Rachel. Can I come in?"

"Whoa!" Snagging an arm as Rachel tried to walk past, Charley shook his head, "Listen... I know you guys are friends, but look what she just did to Cole. And lets face it, you're not half that fast."

Glaring at the man she respected more than most, Rachel shrugged him off, pulling her arm out of his grip. "Cameron, honey, I'm coming in, 'kay?"

Slowly drawing the curtain back, what she found broke her heart, Cameron hunched over her husband, her face twisted and distraught as she sobbed helplessly against John's chest, her entire body shaking as she cried. Strangely, in Rachel's mind this was a good thing. If she was letting it out, it meant she hopefully wouldn't build up to another breakdown. The last one hadn't been pretty.

In contrast to Rachel's soothing words, Cameron's hands clenched tighter to the bedding on John's side, as if afraid someone would try to pull her away from him. John could have died. He could have ceased to exist. Coming to terms with that now that her emotions had been awakened was proving more traumatic than she could ever have anticipated, and she had been totally unprepared for it.

Stepping forward, Rachel couldn't help but choke up as she looked at the scene, partially at a laid out John, but mostly at the sight of her best friend. She'd never been one who could handle her emotions, hell, she even cried when Woody's arm ripped on Toy Story. Tentatively, she reached out to lay a hand on Cameron's shoulder, "Sweetie…it's alright, he's gonna be okay."

Shaking slightly, Cameron didn't seem to register anything beyond her own grief, simply continuing to weep openly against John's increasingly damp chest.

Trying to take her friend into a hug, Rachel rested her cheek on Cameron's shoulders, simply trying to be there for her. These people had taken her into their home, their lives... it was literally the least she could do for them.

Letting out a sound that seemed to be half growl and half sob, Cameron shrugged Rachel off bodily, immediately retaking her spot on John's chest.

"C, Cameron…it's me, sweetie." Not undersanding her behavior, Rachel reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder again, knowing in her heart that Cameron just needed to be comforted.

Cameron pulled away from the contact as if it burned, causing John to grunt a bit in discomfort, which only seemed to make the cyborg more upset as she ran her hand over John's chest soothingly, making small noises between sobs that might have been attempts at shushing him.

"Cameron, you have to let him rest. Come on, let's get you home." Gripping Cameron's arm, she tried, albeit knowing ti was futile, to pry the cyborg away from her husband.

As if finally realizing that a human without a weapon stood no chance of making her go anywhere she didn't want to, Cameron simply 'tensed' up, locking her limbs as much as she could and refusing to even acknowledge the presence behind her. If she was this upset now, in her John's calming presence, Lorne didn't even want to consider how bad it would be if she left his side.

With one final tug, Rachel realised her friend wasn't about to budge if she didn't want to. "Alright Cameron, I understand." Letting go of her arm, Rachel pulled back the curtain, sparing one last glance back towards the gurney, "I'll be outside if you need anything."

Cole shook her head, one step short of laughing as the man in front of her finished taping up her nose, "Told you so..."

"If I was you, Major... I wouldn't be here when she leaves that spot." Rolling her eyes, Rachel decided to go up and bring the rest of John and Cameron's things down before settling in for the long haul, "Besides, don't you have a Resistance to run?"

* * *

T.B.C

Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter. No worries, as confusing as some of this may seem, all will be tied together in time and to everyone's satisfaction :~)  
Thanks as always for reading, if you liked it or hated it, leave a review.


	34. Chapter 34

Title- Becoming John Connor  
Chapter- 34/?  
Author- Dekardkain  
Date- 07/31/13  
Rating- T  
Category - Action/Character study JC/C  
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.  
Warnings- Violence/language  
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.

Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Author's note: A lot of new characters are being introduced in the next few chapters, in addition to the large number already established. In order to help people keep track of everything, my beta Bigbew created a page with character synopsis and cast pictures to hopefully make things easier. The link is near the top of my profile page just under the Becoming John Connor text line and will be updated with each chapter/additional character. Make sure to check it out with each new posting.

Book 2  
Chapter 34 'Connor'

*1 Year 8 months Before J-day*

John had finally managed to doze off while watching a movie on the couch beside Cameron, his head slouching over onto her shoulder unconsciously as she continued her viewing experience with a slightly abnormal level of concentration considering the subject matter. The movie marathon had been his idea, but surprisingly enough, his friend and protector had seemed to be getting far more out of it than he was.

Shortly after his eyes had fallen closed, but long before any good could come of it, John was jostled awake by Cameron's shoulder shuddering beneath him, forcing him to pull back and shake himself awake. After a momentary struggle while getting his eyes to focus and shoving down his accustomed panic at being suddenly woken, he was shocked to find the cyborg beside him... laughing.

No, not just laughing, but shuddering from head to toe in uncontrolled spasms of sharp, barking laughter. It was something akin to the Energizer Bunny version of a high school kid smoking way too much weed and watching Family Guy. Cameron, on the other hand, didn't seem to be enjoying the experience nearly as much as they did.

While she was laughing so hard she couldn't keep her body still, her eyes were as wide as saucers with a look of stark panic in them that was nearly as alien to her behavior as the laughter. Immediately going into crisis mode when he realized this wasn't some strange attempt at a joke, John ducked into her line of sight and snapped his fingers a few times near her nose, "Cameron? Hey, Cam? You okay?"

Seemingly struggling to even form her thoughts into words, Cameron barely managed to get them out in between shudders. It was odd, something akin to true fear in her voice contrasting the laughter racking the rest of her body, "I….can't…stop!"

Though a flash of horror stole through him at the idea her chip may be malfunctioning after all the damage it had sustained over the years, John shoved that thought aside and decided to assume it was just a part of her continued development. Anything else would be dangerous, catastrophic... but this was his Cameron, and she'd be fine. She had to be.

Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Cameron's shoulders, pulling her towards him just a bit while running a soothing hand up and down her back. Honestly, it was the only thing short of an electric current he could think of in the heat of the moment. "It's okay... relax. Don't panic. Just focus on me, on my hand, close your eyes."

Nodding shakily, the cyborg did as instructed and closed her eyes, leaning into him slightly, her hands latching onto his arm and squeezing tight as she carried on shaking with the seemingly uncontrollable laughter. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she shook, still struggling to speak properly, "W, what's…hap…pening?"

"Shhhh..." Resting his chin on her shoulder, John kept the soothing motion up and down her back, tightening his grip when she did, "It's normal, okay? Totally natural. You just... you thought something was funny. Apparently, very, very funny."

She reached out a shaking finger, pointing towards the TV blindly, "G, gopher."

Actually laughing a bit himself at the idea that the little gopher from Caddyshack had been the catalyst for a major emotional development in his best friend, John just held onto her tightly. He wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, but by the time the shudders receeded and the cool wetness on his shoulder stopped getting any worse, the credits were rolling on the TV. "Cameron? You uh... you okay now?"

Still clinging to his arm as if she was afraid the horrific laughter would return if she let go, Cameron slowly shook her head, still trying to work out what had just happened to her, "I don't understand. I couldn't stop. I... tried. I tried but I couldn't control it."

"I know, but... but that's nothing to be afraid of." Keeping up the motion on her back, John pulled back just enough to swipe at the wetness on her face with his other hand, "We can't control things like that. It's part of, well, being human. Having emotions. Especially when we're young and they're new to us. Control comes later, after a _lot_ of practice. Do you understand?"

Eyes watching his as he gently wiped at her cheeks, Cameron found she derived a great deal of comfort in physical contact with John, especially the way he was so…gentle with her. "But I don't like it. I was shaking. I couldn't move. I could have hurt you or, if we'd come under attack... What if..."

"Hey, none of that matters." Shaking his head, John lifted her chin so she could meet his eyes, "You'd never hurt me. We _didn't_ come under attack."

A strange thought occurred to him as he took in the expression on her face. It was almost like she seemed ashamed of these changes. After a few moments of introspection, it lead him to an obvious question, "Cameron, how long have you been fighting these... impulses?"

"Impulses?" In truth, Cameron had experienced the urge to laugh once or twice before, but nothing to the extent of the gopher, "I don't understand."

"Just think back, okay?" Keeping his tone of voice slow and soothing, he brushed some hair dislodged by her little laugh-attack and smoothed it behind her ear. John was so focussed on her, he didn't even realize how long that hand lingered on the smooth skin of her cheek afterwards. "This isn't the only thing that made you, well... feel, was it? How long has this been going on? Feeling like you want to laugh, or smile, or even punch something?"

Brow cinching together, Cameron was genuinely torn for the longest few seconds. On one hand, if she told him the truth, it could potentially upset him. On the other, that hand still on her cheek made her confident that couldn't possibly be the case. Not with her John. "You won't be angry?"

"Never." The strength in John's voice actually shocked her a bit, for a moment reminding her more of the man she knew in the future than the boy she'd been sent back to protect, "As long as it's the truth."

Looking down as if it were shameful to admit, Cameron nodded slowly as she admitted the truth just like John had asked her to, "Since your sixteenth birthday."

"I..." To be honest, John had suspected as much for a while, but she'd done a pretty impressive job at hiding the development in the year since then, "Why did you try so hard to ignore it, Cameron? To fight it?"

"Because…" She looked up at him again, hoping for him to have all the answers, becase frankly she had none. "If you'd have known, you would have wanted me destroyed. You hated me for a long time, I thought if you had an excuse..."

"God, Cameron... are you ever going to trust me?" Shaking his head, John did have to fight down a surge of anger at her words, taking a deep breath before continuing, "I put your chip back in. I put a gun in your hand... I wasn't exactly happy with you, but I would _never_ hurt you. Don't you get that?"

"But," As much as his words filled her with an unfamiliar and yet very welcome feeling, she somehow doubted his words and logic, "I'm defective. I shouldnt be having these…urges."

"What if you were meant to, Cameron? Supposed to?" Lifting her chin again, she was surprised to find John smiling at her, "You learn, you adapt, you grow. You were designed that way, right? If you embrace it instead of fighting it, you might even find certain emotions, like laughter, to be... well, nice."

The cyborg's eyes widened ever so slightly as they focused on the young man in front of her, believing for the first time there may be a reason for her 'defects'. That in fact, there might be the slimmest of possibilities that they weren't defects at all, but steps along a path leading her to becoming more than what she had been. More than a creation of Skynet. It made sense that John would understand this before her, that he would guide her.

After all, he _was_ John Connor. Understanding the machines was his gift and she would trust him and his judgment on the matter. Slowly settling back into his side, she let her head fall onto the reassuring warmth of his shoulder, pleased when he didn't protest at the familiarity of the action. "Of course, John. Thank you for explaining."

* * *

April 2nd, 2011 (Judgment Day + 1)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
0751hrs

The world was..._ moving_.

To be fair, as John Connor's brain hard booted from what had been the kind of incredibly detailed and vibrantly colored dream that only anesthetic and your more powerful painkillers were capable of producing, it tried to inform him that the proper term would be 'rocking'. Side to side, up and down, almost as if he'd awoken to find himself on a boat at sea.

The thunderous crash that had brought him at least partially out of the heavy fog of one of his more pleasant memories of his wife seemed to echo through everything, particularly his skull, as he groped blindly through the crimson-hued darkness for anything to grip that might theoretically stop said rocking. Just as fingertips made contact with the cold metal of the raised bed frame, another, even more massive explosion tore through his universe, sending concrete dust raining down from the ceiling and physically tossing him from the comfort of his mattress and onto the cold floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets.

Gasping as pain tore through his back, neck, and shoulders, the young soldier fought for any reference point of sanity, any clue as to where he was, what was happening, and _why_ he felt like someone was dragging red-hot razors through the muscles and tendons of his back. A rush of adrenaline fueled mostly at the fury brought on by his own helplessness in that moment, John kicked and thrashed until the tangled fabric surrounding him slipped away and to the floor, finding first a knee and then tentatively his feet as the world continued to sway back and forth around him.

Arms shooting out to both sides like a surfer trying to balance on his board, John grimaced when he felt a sharp stab of pain in the crook of his left arm, tearing at it before he even stopped to consider what had caused the sensation. The feeling of tape prying hair from his skin and a decidedly unpleasant pinch was followed by a cold sensation of liquid, then warm, as he stared down at the IV now dripping onto his blood-stained flesh.

Infirmary. Assault. Cheyenne._ The war!_

Eyes widening with purpose now, John could hear voices from what seemed like every direction simultaneously, forcing his protesting back to straighten as he took a few tentative steps in the direction of the most familiar, now just a blurry shape in the crimson wash of the emergency lighting, "Charley! Charley... _DIXON_!"

"Johnny?!" Glancing up from an Airman just brought in with a concussion after being caught in a stairwell during the initial explosion, the medic spun on a heel and grabbed the younger man by the shoulders, frankly shocked he was standing, let alone walking at this point, "What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

Quirking a brow in a way that would have been comical at just about any other time, John's eyes were trying to take in the scene around him all at once, "You tell me! Where's Cameron?!"

"Lorne dragged her off about forty minutes ago." The kid's confusion was just one more stab to Charley's heart for the day as he watched him search aimlessly for any sign of his wife, "We thought it would be for the best once she finally stopped crying."

"Crying... never mind." A coldness settling within his normally expressive eyes, Charley was forced to wonder if John's brain had suffered more from the fall than Cameron had led him to believe as his back straightened and his fists clenched, "Sitrep?"

"What?" Confusion clear in his face, the medic was just about to remind him how little he knew of what was going on outside his infirmary when a terrific clatter rang out to his left. The door to the infirmary slammed open so hard it impacted the frame and shook free a spattering of drywall as two men fell through the portal in a tangle of swinging arms and legs accompanied by a series of grunts, growls, and creative expletives.

Stumbling back a step on instinct, John reached for a sidearm that wasn't nestled safely on his thigh as he gaped at the sight of Captain Richards slamming fist after meaty fist into the figure below him until the other man's movement ceased.

Catching his breath with a small shudder, the SAS Captain slowly regained his footing, searching the room with the look of a practiced predator for any signs of further aggression. Eventually settling on the wounded and still shell-shocked form of his commanding officer, the older man let slip what could only be considered a sigh of relief as he stepped forward into Connor's personal space, "About bloody time you joined the fight!"

"F..." John shook the cobwebs from his head as best he could with so many different drugs running roughshod through his system, forcing cloudy eyes to focus on the man in front of him, "Fight? What fight? Last I remember we'd taken the base and were consolidating!"

"We were." Glancing out into the hallway one last time, Jonathan shouldered the steel door closed behind him before continuing in a clipped tone, "Until it all went tits up, that is. Um... sir."

Motioning a clearly concerned Charley to resume his treatment of the wounded soldier off to the side, John stepped forward with only the smallest of grimaces as his entire body protested the movement, "Captain, how about you pretend that I've been unconscious for the last day or so. In fact, don't pretend."

"Of course, sir." Using the momentary calm to his advantage, Richards searched the man in the Air Force uniform on the floor before snagging a length of I.V. tube from the counter top and using it to bind the soldier's hands behind his back, "Everything was going to plan until the first blast. We'd shepherded the personnel into the mess as per your orders, Major Cole gave quite the rousing speech about the situation and how lucky everyone was to living out the apocalypse in 'luxury'. The entire lot looked like bloody zombies, and Cole barked out orders."

Looking around the room for his clothes, all John was able to locate was his uniform jacket hanging from a hook near the bed. Considering the amount of blood and dirt staining the garment, he assumed the rest had been deemed unsalvagable and tossed into the trash. Still, it would have been nice to have at least something over the tank top and loose-fitting BDU pants he'd woken up in. He was sure charging into battle looking like John McClain at the end of Die Hard wasn't exactly confidence-inspiring. Well, it wasn't quite _that_ bad... at least he had boots. "And that dissolved into violent chaos _how_ exactly?"

"Like you kept banging on about during the briefing, we were on the clock," Captain Richards seemed somewhat defensive, assuming John blamed him for this happening on his watch when he'd only been following the plan the young man had laid out for them. "We left a few blokes behind to keep an eye on the civilians until we had time to start allocating living space. Major Cole took a team to secure Ops to attempt to establish communications with the Machine Faction and monitor the coming nuclear exchange. Perry took his men as well as two three man fire-teams from your fighters and spread out to double-check primary systems and to make sure the facility was totally secure, again _sir_, as per your orders."

"_Again_," John glowered, now equally sure the older man was blaming him for whatever it was that was happening within the bunker, "Explain to me what this has to do with you going Fight Club on our new allies."

Looking down to his handiwork with the kind of shrug and a smirk only a man truly pleased with his abilities is capable of, Jon returned his eyes to his new CO, "Does the name Lieutenant Baum mean anything to you?"

"Oh... shit." Pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly all the physical pain tearing through him faded away and John just wanted this day to end, "Which one?"

"The sister." Rolling his eyes, Richards pointed idly to the mess taking place outside the infirmary, "You were out cold, Cole was nestled away doing her job in CIC. It was her that made the decision!"

"Cousin," John replied automatically, "They're cousins. And technically she is next in line as far as command goes."

The older man snorted, "After this one I really bloody hope that policy changes. They barely managed to get the blast doors closed in time!"

Making his way back to the group with a glare firmly etched across his features, Charley didn't look intimidated by the massive soldier in the slightest as he squared off against him, "She made the right decision and you know it."

A sinking dread suddenly filled John at the implications of his mother making decisions right before the bombs dropped. It was like that moment the rollercoaster decided to plunge and your stomach got the message a second before your brain. Despite her hard edge, Sarah had always been an idealist. One of the most difficult things for her to accept when John stopped fighting J-day was the fact her own beliefs weren't necessarily reflected in her son any longer. If given the opportunity to change things, even now, how far would she go? What risks would she take? And most importantly in this moment... what would the consequences of those decisions be?

Deciding they'd wasted enough time, John turned to face the only real father figure he had left and tried to ignore the warm liquid still slowly dripping from his fingertips onto the tile floor of the infirmary, "Tell me."

"Johnny..." At an unaccustomed look on the younger man's face, it seemed to occur to Dixon the now wasn't the time for personal relationships to color their interactions, "Sir, Major Cole's speech did work. They believed us, at least most of them did. It just had an unintended side effect."

Glancing between the two men, he waited for Richards to nod before motioning for Charley to continue, "Such as?"

"Well, they... they freaked out. They knew they were safe, but these were mainly support personnel keeping the base on hot standby. It's not like they lived here." Dixon scratched the back of his neck, suddenly finding John's boots interesting as the younger man tried unsuccessfully to get them on without bending his back, "Neither did their families."

It took John a good ten count before he was able to speak and even then all that came out was a flustered, "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"We don't know how to run this stuff! We needed them, Johnny." Finding enough courage to stand by his... well frankly, Charley didn't know _what_ Sarah was to him these days, but she was something, and he shook his head, "They were ready to bolt, to try to get them to safety. We only had one other option."

"Jesus..." It really shouldn't have surprised John at this point. This was exactly the kind of decision Sarah would have made, would always make, when it came to innocent human lives. Obviously though, she'd given no thought to the consequences, "Even with the off-the-books renovations and the supplies from Weaver space and food were going to be at a premium, Charley. What am I supposed to do? Convert storage areas into barracks? Institute a ration system for supplies? Dammit! How many?"

"Not that many." The medic's smile faltered when all he got in return was a Connor glare, "A little under a hundred."

"A _hundred_?!" Scrubbing the sides of his face, John was too out of it to even begin to run the numbers. Before this, they would have been fine. Even comfortable. But with the addition of a hundred human beings on top of his men, the base Personnel, Perry's Rangers and their families? Comfort was about to go the way of the dodo. "How did they even get in contact with them? I gave strict orders that no one was supposed to leave the..."

Richards chose that moment to intervene, deciding the history lesson could wait until the current crisis was solved, "The hard-lines to Peterson were still intact and unaffected by Skynet's interference. They had five hours to work with, sir."

"Thank God for human ingenuity." Practically spitting the words, John found himself unable to really embrace the venom behind them. If he'd been in their position, if it had been his family... still, the idea Sarah was able to so easily usurp his authority in a moment of incapacitation was disturbing to say the least. "Okay, I get it. The explosions I'm guessing are a few preprogrammed nukes' way of saying hello. We were expecting that. But that still doesn't explain why I've got a mutiny on my hands. We brought their families in!"

"There were a number of... specialized personnel in the base we were unaware of." Shrugging, the SAS soldier at least had the good grace to look sheepish at what had happened under his nose, "In the shuffle we thought they were some sort of civilian oversight, harmless really."

Quirking a brow in a now-common imitation of his wife, Connor was obviously missing something, "If they wanted to retake the base, why the hell didn't they come out shooting? My men would have dropped them before they emptied their first mag."

"Because, sir." Richards pointed idly in the vague direction he remembered the Mess Hall to be in, "They weren't after the base. They were trying to free our 'hostage'."

* * *

*26 Minutes Earlier*  
April 2nd, 2011 (Judgment Day + 1)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
0725hrs

"If there's one thing you can say for Skynet," Major Cole commented grimly, "It's that it's very efficient when it comes to killing humans."

Standing in a gap between work stations in the command center of the complex, Darla forced herself to stare at the images crisscrossing the screens on the wall in front of her, literally displaying a play-by-play of the end of the world as humanity had known it. She supposed it probably wasn't effecting her in the same way as the smattering of Air Force technicians she'd allowed to remain in the room to assist in establishing their up-link to Weaver, as she'd lived most of her life in the world that was being created, but it still caused her stomach to surge uneasily in a way that had very little to do with her recently broken nose.

An unanticipated side-effect of being forced to seize this facility was their ability to tie their systems into a series of ZeiraCorp satellites specifically designed by Weaver to remain out of Skynet's reach, something that would no doubt prove invaluable when the radiation dropped to more tolerable levels and they emerged to take the fight to the AI.

Austin's natural talents and a few pointers from Wilson had proven more than adequate for the task, patching them into the system three hours earlier than John had initially requested, much to Darla's delight - it was always nice to bring good news to the boss. Now though, the base and it's personnel were secure, and all she had to look forward to were the colorful lines streaking back and forth across the screen before winking out and in doing so, signifying the deaths of millions of human beings.

To say she found it fascinating would have been to oversimplify the situation the the point of absurdity, but she did find the sheer ruthless efficiency of the action to be a previously unknown insight into the mind of the intelligence they were now at war with. The nuclear fire of Judgment Day had always been explained to her in simple terms - NATO fired at the Russians and their allies under Skynet's direction, and Russia and her allies fired back. The truth, it seemed had been far more intricate. Far more subtle in it's effects.

The opening salvo had, unsurprisingly, been primarily to ensure the AI's survival in the coming exchange. NATO's deep penetrators, their nuclear bunker busters, had been the first out of the gate targeting their counterparts in the former Soviet Union to the best of it's ability. They had no idea where Skynet's hardware was located but she had to assume it was a protected facility much like the one she was standing in - otherwise, what was the point of having a nuclear defense grid that could be knocked out in the first exchange? In firing it's specialized weapons at the Russians', it had managed to remove most if not all of the weapons humanity had in it's position that could do any real damage to whatever bunker it was located in at the moment. Helpfully enough, in doing so, it had removed the weapons most likely to be pointed at Cheyenne Mountain itself.

They were currently tracking two incoming missiles that appeared to be on a trajectory for either Peterson or the mountain itself, but they had been launched off the Pacific Coast and Darla was relatively confident when they made contact with them they would simply shake them around a bit and knock a few pictures off the wall. At least she hoped so.

After neutralizing the primary threat to it's survival with a nuclear action, they'd begun receiving occasional transmissions over command frequencies of conventional attacks that had never made it into the history books of her war. Skynet had been a catch-all for a truly modern military force, right down to allowing it control over autonomous assets the world over. American and allied forces the world over had been more than a little surprised when their own drones had begun firing on their bases, which worked to the AI's benefit as many were in areas too sparsely populated to warrant a nuclear option.

In the end that was what had surprised Cole the most about Skynet's strategy, and answered many of the questions she'd been left with during the previous war. She had always wondered how the machine could have been stupid enough to leave such quantities of military hardware the world over intact for the human Resistance to eventually restore and use against it to such devastating effect. It had to have known humanity would use every plane, every tank, every bullet and bomb it could get its' hands on. It also had to know that until factories were either seized from Skynet itself or thrown together piecemeal by the Resistance, that they would have no way of replacing sophisticated weapons systems. So why ignore them?

Watching the map, the answer was horrifyingly simple. In the twenty-first century, it was rare for the hardware to be sitting near massive population centers. The wars that superpowers were concerned with in this day and age tended to be in relatively sparsely populated parts of the planet, and those powers had a vested interest in keeping their expensive toys as far away from potentially unhappy locals as could be arranged. Within those countries, most people didn't particularly want said toys going super-sonic of their heads or their exercises screwing up traffic.

Skynet was only worried about killing people and it made a certain kind of sick sense. In the immediate aftermath of the exchange, the world would have ground to a halt. No power, no fuel, in many places even running water would be a thing of the past. Though well supplied and equipped, some even capable of returning home, those assets outside their home country would wither on the vine and become combat ineffective almost immediately. Within weeks as nuclear winter set in and supplies dwindled, they'd be more concerned with their own survival than bringing their now dead-weight equipment into the fight for humanity's survival.

That is, unless someone like John could convince them otherwise. But that would have to come later.

So instead of traditional military targets, Skynet had taken the fight to where the people were. To where population density made it most effective expend it's nuclear ordnance. A swath from Pakistan to Japan simply couldn't be seen when viewed from a conventional camera view on Sat 3 as it orbited overhead, the coastal areas of India, Bangladesh, and China glowing as bright as a sun under nearly every scanning system they had available to them from thermal to ambient radiation. The island nations... for all intents and purposes it looked as if Indonesia, the Philippines, and Japan had simply ceased to exist, the fallout slowly drifting like a dirty tidal wave across the pacific and towards the nearly equal glow of the United States' west coast.

The human obsession with concentrating their populations near water sources had in many cases made Skynet's job just that much easier, allowing it to overlap the blast radius of its' assault to saturate as much of those areas as was possible. Europe was so densely populated in general that it seemed to have moved to a more evenly distributed pattern, unless you counted a swath of northern Scandinavia and a few very lucky channel islands, that is. Predictably following the established pattern, with the exception of the strikes on certain offensive missile systems, most of the ordnance expended in the former USSR had landed west of the Caucuses.

It's not that the areas 'spared' would fare much better, most of them being unpopulated for a reason. Why waste valuable destructive power on places like Africa and the Middle East when their populations were heavily dependent on food shipped in from other parts of the world that would not be arriving come tomorrow? The global trade network humanity had so painstakingly built up had just come crashing down, and areas were now about to revert to only being able to support the level of population their own resources could provide for, something that would become even more difficult when the sky darkened and the nine month winters began.

It was all so perfectly, ruthlessly, mechanically efficient.

Sighing, Darla turned to the shocked face of a young woman seated to her left who appeared to be doing her best to fight off tears at the sight, "Track the incoming contacts and keep the lines open for our... contact. Beyond that, kill the screens. There's nothing more to see."

Pleased to see that despite the shock of the day, or perhaps because of it, the technicians in the room continued to go about their business despite being what amounted to unwilling conscripts in John Connor's fight against the machines. Then again, looking at the screen as it flickered out, she supposed that was better than being stuck outside when those missiles landed.

Turning on her heel, Darla was just considering grabbing a cup of coffee when he radio crackled to life for the first time in over an hour, a frantic voice accompanied by the unmistakable staccato sound of gunfire.

"Contact, level two! Three of them!"

Quirking a brow proved to be a mistake when the skin of her face pulled taut and further irritated the angry mass of cartilage Cameron had been so _kind_ to rearrange for her. Activating her radio on the command frequency, she quickly silenced the questions flooding the airwaves, "Baum? This is Cole, what he hell do you mean 'contacts'?!"

A long moment passed before Derek responded, sounding out of breath after what she imagined was a quick dash down a narrow hallway, "Perry and I were relaying supplies downstairs when we heard something going down... hold on!"

Apparently using his headset, the soldier had failed to kill the pickup before firing off a burst of deterrent fire, the report echoing loudly enough to cause Darla to flinch before he sighed, "They're pulling back! Perry, get your men up here right fucking now! Richards, we've got no idea how far they've made it into the base, get down to medical and secure Connor!"

"Baum!" Shouting into her radio, Darla was getting pretty tired of everyone apparently forgetting John had left her in charge. First Sarah's stunt with the civilians, and now Reese had decided to lead a one-man operation to retake the mountain, "Report!"

Practically able to hear the roll of his eyes, Derek's rough voice was accompanied by a series of clicks as he deftly swapped out his magazine, "We heard something going down in the mess. It was full of civilians and non-essential personnel. We'd left a couple of Perry's guys behind and got to work."

"You left two men to guard more than a hundred frightened people," Darla ground out the words, "More than half of whom have military training?!"

"I..." Reese had been so focused on the job it had honestly never occurred to him that it would be a problem, after all, they'd taken the base without much fuss once the shooting had stopped, "Yeah?"

"Wilson! Lock down the room!" Shoving a finger in the direction of the thus-far motionless T-800, Cole glared daggers around the room as if daring any of the Techs overhearing this conversation to try anything before turning back to the woman she'd been dealing with before, "Can we pull up the security cameras on this thing?"

"Y... yes, ma'am." The Airman ducked back down to her work, on top of everything else that had gone on today, she did not need to be caught in the middle of a firefight with these psychos, "Patching it in now."

Scanning her eyes over the individual squares as they filled the wall across the room, Cole could feel her teeth grinding as she caught sight of half a dozen men arming themselves just outside the door to the mess hall, all of whom were wearing uniforms. Inside the room itself, Perry's men appeared alive if a little worse for wear, a pair of suits shouting orders while an older man looked on. Wandering towards the screen, she jabbed her finger in the direction of the seemingly random addition to their little party, the kind of guy she'd have expected to be leading a lecture in a high school math class rather than shouting orders to men with Uzis.

"The suit," Turning to the room, she scanned their faces one by one, "Who is he?"

Seconds passed as the occupants looked between each other in various stages of befuddlement and frankly a small measure of amusement before finally a man wearing a slightly different uniform than the others cleared his throat, his accent reminding Cole for the first time that the Canadians had personnel in this facility as well, "Um... seriously?"

Her jaw tightening, Darla squared off with the soldier, a Second Lieutenant if she was making the rank on his uniform out right, "Humor me."

"That's Senator Hargrave, ma'am." Waiting a five count before Cole rolled her hand for him to continue, Lieutenant McDonald sighed, "Mitchell Hargrave? As in, running for President of the United States, Senator Hargrave. Chairman of the Armed Forces Subcom..."

"Good enough." Making a move to pinch the bridge of her nose, Darla was grateful beyond belief that she caught herself in time and shoved her hand back down to her side. She could understand how they'd missed the guy, it wasn't as if the TV at the compound had taken many breaks from cartoons and action movies to flip on CNN, but she and Perry would be having words about his men not catching the guy. "Then those two with the Uzis?"

It frightened the Lieutenant just how unphased by the idea of what was happening the woman in front of him appeared and it showed in the tone of his voice, "Secret Service, ma'am."

Not waiting for any more confirmation, Darla lifted a hand to her ear with a look of irritation, taking this as just one more hurdle to accomplishing her objectives. She'd survived machines, assassinated Generals feeding information to Skynet, this... this was a Sunday picnic by comparison, "Baum, we've got confirmation. Two of your civilians were armed, Secret Service. Probably didn't get spooked when we showed up waving papers and pretending to be heroes, once they realized what was going on this Senator or one of his guys decided to do something stupid."

Derek's scoff carried across the airwaves, "Senator?"

"Doesn't matter." Rolling her eyes, she looked up at the screen and ran it against the map she'd dedicated to memory before coming to the facility, "They only have enough weapons to arm ten men tops, have Perry send a squad to the armory to keep them away from it, lock down the stairwells and the exits on your floor and those above and below."

Relaying the orders almost as fast as Darla could speak them, Derek turned his focus back onto the hallway once he was finished, "Then what?"

"What do you think, Lieutenant?" Running through all of the possible scenarios in her mind, Darla didn't see a single one that wouldn't involve a civilian or two in that crowded room going down and she knew John would be pissed when he found out. Every soldier they dropped along the way would be one less gun in the coming war... but still, what other option did she have? "We take it back."

* * *

April 2nd, 2011 (Judgment Day + 1)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
0802hrs

"No."

The flurry of motion taking up the admittedly small amount of available space in an infirmary stocked to the brim with unopened boxes and agitated soldiers came to a rather spectacular halt at that single, vehement word. No one, however, was more surprised to hear it than John Connor himself as he looked up from the carbine Richards had retrieved for him along with his gear, "No?"

It was a rare thing to see Charley Dixon angry, John could count the occasions on one hand and still have some fingers left over when all was said and done, but when you did it was definitely something that stuck with you, "I said no Johnny and I meant it."

Checking the mag in his M4, John slid it back into place before laying it down on the bed behind him, "It wasn't really a request."

"Doesn't change the answer." His lips forming into a thin line, Dixon refused to budge, "This is idiotic and I won't be a part of it. The only reason you're conscious right now is because you've got enough muscle relaxers and painkillers running through your system to drop a rhino. There is no way in hell I am giving you more."

"This is getting out of hand." Trying to keep his voice even, John stepped forward as smoothly as was possible given the circumstances as if to try and bluff his way into convincing the man he was fit for duty, "People are going to die if we don't put a stop to it."

Nodding in agreement, the older man tossed his hands up, "And you're surrounded by soldiers, Johnny. They can handle this thing. You can't keep trying to do it all yourself."

His eyes softening slightly, John was about to speak when Richards rolled his eyes and turned to the cabinet behind him, quickly smashing the handle off with the butt of his L119A1 and digging through the contents. Emerging a moment later with a pair of vials and syringe, he looked between the medic and the soldier in front of him, "We don't have time for this. You doing him or am I?"

Jaw grinding away as he took in the hulking sight of the SAS soldier in front of him, Charley grabbed the items out of his hand and walked around behind John. Given the option, at least he was sure he could dose the kid without killing him, "Lift your shirt."

Latching onto his lower lip between his front teeth, John slid a hand around his back and slid the fabric up and away from the damaged vertebrae, staring straight ahead and controlling his breathing while Charley mixed the cocktail and slid the needle home. Almost immediately after the pinch he felt a surge of relief, and a strange distance between himself and the world. It reminded him of trying to listen to a conversation through a motorcycle helmet. Still, it would get the job done.

Dropping his shirt back down and picking up the carbine, he turned to face the small group gathered around him, doing his level best to stay focused on the task ahead, "Perry, Richards, you guys pick up the gear I asked for?"

"It's all there." Motioning to the small pile of electronics and non-lethal ordnance his new CO had requested, Justin had to admit he was harboring doubts about this kid on a good day, let alone hopped up on half a medicine cabinet in an effort to simply function, "So far the advanced squads have contained the situation. They haven't tried to rush our checkpoints... yet."

"Good." Nodding along, John glanced at the small map in front of him, rubbing his eyes twice before speaking, "We're going to be occupying this place, guys. Your families are in there, their families are in there, I don't need to tell you what it will mean if we start killing civilians. If we do this right, no one dies. We do this wrong and..."

"Why are we meeting in the infirmary?" Rounding the corner, Sarah nearly swallowed her tongue when she was John was not only conscious, but standing over a map in hastily thrown-together fatigues looking like he actually intended to take part in this operation, "John?"

"Lieutenant," Smiling tightly, John barely acknowledged his mother's entrance, still more than a little angry over the part she'd played in this situation, "I need you down in Section A."

Picking up on the tone of John's voice, Sarah could feel her back lock into place automatically, still unused to being on the receiving end of his ire, "Officer's quarters? Why?"

"Secure critical personnel until this is over." Moving back to the floor-plan, he apparently considered the conversation to have ended.

Sarah on the other hand was just getting started, "All of the 'critical personnel' are in this room, _Captain._"

Looking around pointedly, John didn't know if it was the drugs or if he had just finally reached the end of his rope where his mother was concerned, "My _wife_ is down there. I've got armed men roaming the halls and no time to check up on..."

"Your wife?!" If her son had reached the end of his rope, Sarah's back had officially snapped under what could only be called the final straw, "Cameron can take care of herself, John! If anything she should be up here making sure..."

"Enough!" Head whipping up a look in his eyes that the elder Connor could honestly say she'd never seen before, John's voice echoed off the walls with each clipped syllable, "You will obey your orders or you'll sit this out under lock and key in your quarters, am I understood?!"

Looking around the room, Sarah noted that if anyone else shared her misgivings they certainly weren't willing to share that opinion in front of her son. It was ridiculous! The idea of sending her to protect a cyborg capable of tearing any of those men limb from limb without the slightest danger to herself. She didn't care what kind of doe eyes she made at her son, the ridiculous facsimile of human emotions she tried to convince him were real, she was still a machine. The only reason to protect her from harm was to keep those around them from knowing just what she really was and considering John's vehemence about integration of the machines into their forces, right down to letting everyone know of Wilson's true nature... keeping his wife's a secret made him a hypocrite of the first order.

Now she was being forced to check in on said wife instead of keeping an eye on her wounded son while he rushed back into combat with soldiers at his back they barely knew, a fact that had her ready to explode all over again when she realized not one of his Resistance fighters was present in the room. The men in the bunker were choosing sides and just what would keep those inside this room from choosing the country they'd served their entire adult lives over a man they had only met in person a few days prior?

Unfortunately, before she had a chance to respond John's hand lifted to his ear as he motioned for quiet, "Yeah? Perfect. Hold it for my mark, we're on our way."

Shouldering his M4 with only the slightest grimace, the rest of the soldiers in the room followed suit as Perry passed out the equipment he'd been sent to pick up, "Everyone's in position, guys. We move in five."

Stopping on his way to the door, John's face was like ice when he turned towards his mother, "I need to concentrate on this or people will die. I need the people I care about, _everyone_ I care about out of the way until this is over. Get me, Lieutenant?"

Her face falling slightly, Sarah was more than a little shamed in that moment, having never taken anything beyond her own desire to protect her son into account, "John..."

Shaking his head while backing out the door, John glanced down at the watch face on the underside of his wrist, "She'll want to find me. Don't let her!"

With that, he was out the door and moving towards the fight without glancing back.

* * *

April 2nd, 2011 (Judgment Day + 1)  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Colorado Springs, Colorado  
0810hrs

Lifting a hand to halt the column of soldiers stacked up behind him just before the bend in the hall, John inhaled deeply through nose and mouth in an effort to slow the beating of his heart, trying by force of will alone to order his thoughts and prepare for what he knew was coming. In earlier battles he'd been so frightened he hadn't had much chance to think at all, to do more than react to what was happening around him and hope for the best. Now though, it seemed all he could do to try and silence the voice in his head as it attempted to analyze everything around him and force second and third guesses to every decision he made.

The memories... or remnants of whatever had wormed it's way into his consciousness after his injury earlier, were streaming through his mind every second. Bits an pieces filtered in from time to time, like flecks of gold racing down a stream that only appeared if he sifted through it just right. He supposed it made sense, if these were indeed memories, as you only really thought of your own when something triggered a specific one.

Still, if the idea had been to help him in the fight ahead, they seemed to be doing the opposite. Random flashes intruded at exactly the wrong times, people and places he had no context for and no understanding of. The headache wasn't helping either.

Moving his still-raised hand over to his ear, John tapped the contact while eying the door in front of him, "In position."

"I see you." Darla's voice, whispering in his ear, brought for it's own flood of images. Things that might have had a different effect a year ago, but now only left him feeling like he'd violated his best friend's privacy as they chased through his consciousness. That hadn't been him and it never would be, something even Cole had come to accept. He just hoped the images continued to fade as they had been since he'd woken earlier. Walking around with that kind of information in your head was... unsettling, "Two... no, three on the other side of the door. Once you clear the hall you'll round the corner to your right, take the second hall on your left and you'll be at the mess."

Making a mental note of her directions, John slowly slid his NVGs into place and motioned for Perry and his men to do the same, "Same number of guards at the door?"

"Still two," Cole sighed, wishing she'd been able to talk John out of this course of action. Of course she understood his desire to avoid casualties, but in her mind he was putting himself in danger to save others and that was as always entirely unacceptable in her opinion, "Carmack and O'Brien are in position and waiting for the breech, but once I flip the switch I won't have eyes on it. If they move..."

"Then we'll see them. Shock and awe, Darla." Rolling his shoulders slowly despite the protests of his tender back, John's grip tightened on his M4, "Ready?"

"Yeah... one second." Fiddling with the MP3 player John had loaned her for the ride to the compound, Darla scrolled through his playlists until she located the one he'd mentioned, 'John's Work Mix', "In three... two..."

Hand on the door, John took one last deep breath and reached up for the handle, the barrel of his M4 positioned right at the crack and ready to slice the pie when the base intercom thrummed to life with an unexpected, twangy guitar riff that had him stopping in his tracks, eyes widening slightly as the lyrics echoed down the halls.

_Take my love  
Take my land  
Take me where I cannot stand  
I don't care  
I'm still free  
You can't..._

"Cole!" John hissed, slapping at the button on his mic, "I said 'John's Work-_out_ Mix'! Next one!"

Absolutely mortified at an already outlandish plan getting just that much more ridiculous, he rubbed a hand across his cheek and readjusted his goggles as the music abruptly cut out. Motioning sheepishly to the men behind him to wait for a second, he could practically hear Cameron's teeth grinding somewhere in the base. He had no idea why his wife hated that song so much, in fact, it had been one of the first additions to her list of irritations when her emotions had begun to develop, the yang to her enjoyment designation's ying. John hadn't judged, but he'd always found it rather catchy himself.

"Okay," Darla's voice carried over to his ear, sounding contrite, "They look confused... but not alarmed. Lets try this again. Give it a ten count and I'll kill the power. Good luck, Johnny."

"Understood." Smirking despite himself, that little mistake might have done more good than harm, allowing John to relax and focus in a way he'd been unable to just a few moments before. Taking a deep breath and returning to the breach position, Perry stepped up and to the other side of the frame as the pair activated their NVGs. "Remember... non-lethal is the word of the day."

Perry was glad he was wearing the goggles as it hid the small eye roll he couldn't quite suppress at the man's almost surreal sense of humor, "We'll do our best... sir."

Resting his left hand on the door handle, John's smirk cut into a full-blown grin with the base's speakers blared out the _right_ guitar riff this time at a volume sure to deafen anyone not immunized to it through a youth spent building scar tissue up in their ear canals. Luckily for John, he was just such a man.

As soon as the lyrics started, John began his countdown.

_Welcome to the jungle_

_We've got fun n' games_

_We got everything you want_

_Honey, we know the names_

_We are the people that can find_

_Whatever you may need_

The lights in the hallway blacked out the second John turned the handle and dropped his shoulder into the door, the noise of their entry almost entirely covered by the music blaring through the complex. The first man had been close by, and it was simple enough for John to knock his weapon to the side with his free arm, a round squeezed in panic flying harmlessly into the drywall as Perry slammed the butt of his shotgun into the base of the man's skull and dropped him instantly.

Turning towards the two forms further down the hall, both men went wide, hugging the walls on either side in case they figured out what was going on as they spun aimlessly in the kind of darkness you could only achieve half a mile underground. When they were within ten meters or so, Perry motioned behind them and two of his Rangers filled the gap between them, a three count of his fingers reaching zero as the pair slipped in behind and brought them swiftly to the ground in near unison. Two thuds muffled by the music and they were moving again at a quick trot while Richards dropped back to secure the prisoners before they woke up. John held back for just a moment, waiting until the Brit handed off his plan B before continuing along his way.

While John prized his Resistance fighters for their unique and varied skill-set, it was impressive to say the least watching the Rangers as they operated in near perfect sync like they'd practiced such things hundreds of times in the past. Which frankly, they probably had. Struggling to catch up when almost any heavy breathing on his part caused spasms of pain to radiate outward from his spine.

By the time he'd rounded the corner into the proper hallway Perry and one of his men had dropped the two guarding the door, only one of whom had forced the soldiers to open fire. From the energy he was exhibiting writhing around on the floor clutching at his upper thigh, the man would be just fine. Unfortunately, despite the music, the gunfire had undoubtedly alerted those inside to what was waiting for them.

Pausing to issue orders, John was a little chagrined to find Corporal Fallon already gathering up the insurgent's weapons and securing them while Perry and the others stacked up on either side of the door in perfect formation. Yeah, he decided working with these guys was definitely going to be a different kind of experience than John was used to.

Pulling his goggles off and tossing them to the floor, he didn't bother to make sure the others had done the same before activating his radio, "We're in position. Kill the music and bring up the lights."

A second later his orders were carried out and after his eyes adjusted to the brightness, John caught the shiny objects Fallon tossed in his direction and pocketed them before giving his weapon a final once-over, praying he wouldn't have to use it. While it made sense to use their advantage in gear and training up until this point, the wall-to-wall civilians on the other side of the door meant such tactics would likely only serve to get innocent people killed. If blinded and disoriented men started opening fire randomly in such confined spaces it would only turn out badly.

"We've secured the door," Keeping his M4 steady, John used the few moments of respite before the final push to catch his breath, "Everyone in position?"

"I've already got a bead, sir." Amanda's calm, almost bored tone resonated through John's earpiece, reminding him with a shiver that this was the woman who dropped a T-888 trying to tear his face off from less than two feet away with a shot into a metallic 'temple' no larger than an inch in diameter, across a flame-filled battlefield... more than two hundred meters away, "If they're protecting this guy, sir, why not just let me remove him from the equation?"

"She's got a point, Johnny," Darla added as if he'd expected a different opinion from her, "This guy thinks he's got some power here. He's wrong, but he doesn't know it yet and convincing him could be bloody."

Their voices weren't the only ones trying to stress that point to John, an unsettlingly familiar one bubbling up from within was trying to convince him of just how right they were. It was the same instinct he'd found himself fighting against nearly every time he engaged the enemy, the one telling him that anything was justified, anything was necessary, if it achieved his goals. His goals were humanity's goals, he was fighting for the species... anyone fighting against him was by their very nature a traitor, they deserved to die. It was the same instinct that had put a rifle in his mother's hands and nearly killed an innocent man, and now it lived on in him, growing harder to ignore every day. Especially now that it had a _voice._

"No." The answer was as much for himself as his soldiers, forcing John to shake his head as if to clear it, "They're scared, they're not doing anything we wouldn't in their place. We stick to the plan. O'Brien, hold your fire unless I give the order, same for you Carmack."

"I've only got eyes on one of the suits, sir." Darla sounded flustered, flipping between all three camera views provided inside the messhall, "There's too many people in there. We need to..."

Shuffling up to the door, John motioned Perry up beside him, "We've already given them too much time to prepare."

He didn't mention that if they didn't move quickly he wasn't sure he'd be standing upright by the time it was all over. If Derek had taught him anything, it was that Connor had to be more than human, more than a man. He simply wasn't allowed to let something as pedestrian as a herniated disc stop him in his tracks, even if it felt like someone was drilling an auger into his back, "Lets do this."

Shoving the door at the same moment as Perry, John was through a second behind the larger man, scanning his sectors through his M68. Quickly freeing up the entryway and fanning off to the side, the rest of the squad poured in behind them and took up positions. "We're not here to hurt you! Lay down your weapons and..."

A round ricocheting off the wall less than half a meter to his right had John dropping to the side and his men scattering as the majority of the civilians in the room proceeded to lose their shit in short order, a flurry of motion his dilated eyes were having difficulty keeping up with was followed by a voice from the direction of the crowd nearest the south wall, "This is a United States Military facility! You... you have declared war on this nation and it's people and you will cease all hostile..."

"Oh for God's sake..." Propped up against a large trashcan near the west wall, John tried to toss a smile in the direction of a family huddled to the side, genuinely surprised when they recoiled at his attentions. For a moment he'd managed to forget how he probably appeared to them in that moment, bloody, exhausted, his still-healing facial scar standing out in vivid contrast to his pale skin. The assault rifle probably didn't help matters either, he decided, "We're not the enemy here! We're trying to..."

Another round pinged off the wall from the far end of the room, this one aimed at a clearly agitated Perry a few feet away from his position behind the curve of the mess counter. It was becoming increasingly obvious to John that the diplomatic route wasn't panning out, but he wasn't quite ready to give up yet, "Hargrave! You've seen what's happening out there! I didn't cause it... but I can stop it! We know how to fight what's coming. God-dammit you need us!"

"If what I've seen is true son," The man's Southern drawl echoed across the room seemingly unperturbed by the muffled crying of the children cowering in various corners covered protectively by their equally terrified parents, "What we need is the constitutional continuation of government! These men have duties, both to our nation, and it's people! I have no intention of submitting to a psychotic determined to install a military dictatorship during a time of...

"Okay, I'm done." Checking his weapon one last time, John didn't bother with the radio this time, "O'Brien!"

Less than a half a second after the word left his mouth a round blasted a light fixture on the far side of the room, the man's words cut off instantly in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. Deciding his point had been made, John wasted little time before rising to his feet, not bothering to shoulder his rifle as Perry and his men popped up from behind cover and scanned the room for threats. Finally getting a good look at the Senator from his current position, cowering on the floor near the salad bar, John noticed that the secret service agent beside him was carefully setting his weapon on the ground in a manner least likely to excite either of the two red dots currently positioned on his chest.

Letting slip a tired sigh, John had taken three steps steps before he caught sight of the motion to his left. While he'd decided to defuse the situation by placing the HVI these rather dangerous men were protecting in an unwinnable position, it had occurred to him perhaps too late that their solution to ending the standoff might be to kill the leader of the forces currently 'occupying' the facility. Whether it was the drugs, the exhaustion, or simple pride, he'd discounted the second Agent, lost in the crowd, until the man was nearly crawling over the civilian in front of him with his Glock inches from the side of his head.

Only instincts honed by a lifetime of looking over his shoulder gave John the split second he needed to rotate to the side, the pistol discharging beside his left ear at nearly point blank range and sending a spike of pain along with a horrendous ringing as he brought his arm up and around to drive the weapon away from his head. At such close range there was no hope of shouldering his M4, so he didn't attempt to stop it as the strap slipped from his shoulder and the carbine clattered to the floor, instead using his now free hand to fire off a punch at the taller man's face.

John wasn't exactly well-versed on the kind of training Secret Service Agents underwent, but the ease with which the man countered the blow and tried to bring his Glock back into play lead him to believe it was rather extensive. Fighting every instinct in his body he lunged forward rather than back, causing the weapon to deflect off his shoulder as another round was squeezed off, and allowing John the leverage he needed to drive into his midsection and send them both sprawling to the floor. Rolling to the side on instinct, he caught the man's wrist before he could bring the pistol to bear again, absorbing two sharp hooks to the chin as they wrestled for leverage.

There was a flash behind his eyes at the second impact, and John felt something rush through him he'd never experienced before. He was laying on the ground outside Kruger as the T-888 swiped it's melting claw at his face. He was bouncing off everything in sight as Dimitri literally beat the life out of him. He was staring out a shredding hotel window as round after round slammed into the walls and furniture around him.

He could feel his heart clench in his chest as if a terminator had driven a hand through his ribs and grabbed hold of it, every terrifying moment he'd endured tearing through him in the space of a second. Terror like he'd never known seemed to steal his breath, the only thing he could think in that moment was to fight. To survive.

The world went black around him, and his muscles seemed to move on their own.

Under logical circumstances, he'd likely have tried to block the flurry raining down on him, but logic was the furthest thing from the part of his mind still capable of functioning. Instead of bringing his right hand into play immediately, he simply held on with his left for dear life, absorbing three more swings that left his head swimming while using the time to reach around to the small of his back. Making contact with his goal, John finally allowed himself the focus necessary to move out of the way of the next swing, his right arm moving back into the fray and driving the tip of his knife into the fleshy expanse of the man's forearm.

Only being brought to a halt by the solid form of bone beneath the muscle, John manged to twist hard before the man lashed out reflexively and knocked him away. Not that it mattered, the fury of the attack had forced the Agent to drop his weapon and he was now desperately trying to remove the blade from his arm. Kicking the pistol across the floor, John stumbled to a knee, launching a swing with the entire weight of his body behind it, staggering the man and sending him to the deck.

Pain surging through his body, he let out an incoherent noise from deep in his throat while following after on instinct.

He didn't register the shocked outcries of the civilians or the voices of his men as they repeatedly called his name. He just kept swinging. Every impact was little more than a dull thud, the only thing he was sure of was that he couldn't stop, he couldn't let up, he had to keep going. He was barely conscious of the man pinned beneath him as he rained down blow after blow, of the damage he was doing with hands numbed by drugs and adrenaline. Everything was closing in around him, and the only thing he could do to keep it at bay was to keep fighting...

"John."

The voice was barely audible over the blood roaring in his ears, the ringing from the gunshots, and the haze that had descended over his vision, but it managed to stop him in his tracks as surely as a lightning strike. The scene before him finally clearing up to reveal a sea of shocked faces stretching out in front of him as he sat hunched and panting over the unconscious and bloody form of the man beneath him. Perry's soldiers had already secured the other Agent and the Senator, all of them focused on him. Looking down at the mess of his knuckles as if they belonged to someone else, John's head quirked to the side while he swallowed painfully, trying to figure out just when he had...

"John." Cameron approached slowly, looking exhausted and slightly disheveled in one of his t-shirts and a pair of jeans, she was studiously ignoring the way the focus of the room seemed to shift to her as John's did. Sparing a glance at the man her husband had been attacking, she frowned, but didn't comment further. "You should come home now."

Shaking his head, John slowly pulled himself up off the Agent, allowing Perry's medic to duck in behind and set to work as he seemed to stare through the woman in front of him, "Home?"

"Yes." Ignoring the worry she'd been experiencing since finding out her injured husband had embarked on such a foolish course of action, Cameron reached up and brushed a hand along his cheek growing more concerned by his strange behavior by the second. Still, John didn't seem to be in a state where he would respond well to the obvious, and though she rarely used her knowledge of his psychology to her advantage, she deemed this an extenuating circumstance. John would always protect her, always take care of her. Smiling softly, she reached out and brushed cool fingertips along the curve of his cheek, "I'm... having trouble sleeping. I need you to come home."

"Oh." Responding to the words as if they made perfect sense, John nodded numbly, stepping forward on unsteady legs and putting an arm around his wife. Glancing over his shoulder with a vacant expression, he cleared his throat before addressing Perry, "Keep them confined for now... get these people into living quarters as soon as possible."

Feeling his weight lighten as Cameron tucked herself into his side, he barely registered her saying something to Sarah about Charley and their room. He was barely aware of moving his feet as they made their way from the room. In that moment his mind was a blank slate, aware of the only two things it needed to be - he was with Cameron, and they were going home.

T.B.C.

Thanks for your patience everyone, I as always look forward to hearing what you have to think of this chapter and hope the next update won't take nearly as long this time. For those of you that might have skipped the author's note at the top, I have a link to a character profile my beta BigBew built for this story on my profile page with character synopsis and pictures, so make sure to take a look.


End file.
